


Fate/Guardian Light

by Questoris



Category: Destiny (Video Games), Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Enjoy!, Gen, Lancer Dies, but keeps getting rezzed, meant to be serious, omakes guaranteed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24692503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Questoris/pseuds/Questoris
Summary: Sometimes, a new hero isn’t enough to save the day. The Traveler knows this, and when the world calls out for a savior, old legends will rise once more, and bonds once forged with blood sweat and tears shall be reforged anew with light.
Kudos: 20





	1. The Path Less Travelled

**Chapter 1:** **The Path Less Travelled**

* * *

**So... I decided to cross-post my ff.net story here. Chapters 2-4 are going to follow shortly. This is a more refined version than what’s on the other site, although I’ll be fixing it up there too. Updates for both sites will be be posted roughly around the same time.**

* * *

Key: 

“Speech”  
 _‘Thoughts’_  
 _“Arias/chants”_  
 **“Noble Phantasm”**

* * *

The Holy Grail War: a small-scale battle between seven masters, comprised of three magi from the founding families of the Tohsaka, Einzbern, and Makiri, along with four other magi randomly selected from all walks of the Twilight World, and seven Servants, seven heroes of legend from across time and space who fight under the command of the Masters.

There was the noble Saber, Servant of the Sword.

Then came the versatile Archer, Servant of the Bow.

And then there was the agile Lancer, Servant of the Lance.

Together, these three Servants classes formed the Knights, oftentimes the most powerful players in the field when the Holy Grail War came about.

However, as powerful as they were, such vaunted prestige did not lessen the value of the silent and deadly Assassin, Servant of Stealth and Murder.

Nor the indomitable Rider, Servant of the Mount.

Should they be summoned from the right legend, and their master could supply enough mana, the murderous and insane Berserker, Servant of Madness, could also match up with any of the Knights. 

And last was the Caster. The Servants of Magecraft were weak in terms of outright fighting other Servants, yet they were, just like Assassin, perfectly suited for ending the lives of Masters with their extremely potent spells. 

One Servant from each of these classes would be summoned to fight in the War, under the command of the Master who called them forth. And yet, in the five times that Grail War had occurred, not once had there ever been a victor with a wish granted.

The records of the First and Second Wars were lost to the annals of time, only a scant few ever remembering the exact events that occurred.

The Third War birthed an irregularity. Summoned by the Einzberns to replace the Servant Berserker, the vengeful Avenger, Servant of Retribution, became the eighth, unofficial servant class. Due to its abysmal parameters, it was the first to die in battle. 

Although it died first, the Servant would eventually have the last laugh by corrupting the Grail, allowing it to summon anti-heroes and villains and permanently twisting a victor’s wish into something so reprehensible that only the vilest of men could dream of. The name of the Servant was Angra Mainyu, the Zoroastrian God of Evil.

And it was thus that the Fourth War ended in flames, black mud embodying All the World’s Evils sprouting from the Avenger-corrupted Grail. 

And it was from the depths of its hellfire, that a Sword was forged to defeat it. 

It was broken.

It was distorted.

It was given salvation.

The Sword was saved by an equally broken shell of a man, whose ideals were shattered right in front of his eyes, whose soul had been tainted by All the World’s Evils, cursing him to a slow and painful death. Yet by saving the Sword, the broken man too was saved, if not in body, than in mind and soul. 

Before drifting into unconsciousness, seeing the expression of utter happiness on the man’s face, the last thought of the Sword was,

_‘I wish I could smile like that.’_

Years passed, and the Sword grew up, hardening and sharpening its body, mind and soul to become an {Ally of Justice} and fulfill a father’s dream. It lived by the ideals inherited by the father, but alas, despite all itdid, that training was not enough to be able to save everyone. It would never be enough.

Until the Fifth Grail War came, fifty years too early.

And in the two weeks that followed, the Sword had become greater than it could have been had it followed a life of normalcy, the steel within being reinforced to their utter limits. It was here that it had a true taste of the everdistant dream it was chasing. It was here that it experienced the utter power of heroes of old. It was here that it learned of the only power that would ever use, and ever be allowed to have.

Unlimited Blade Works: the Infinite Creation of Swords. A Reality Marble born from the Sword’s distorted and alien view of the world that embodied a true pinnacle to the ability to give form to what was in one’s mind and the Sword’s ideal to save everyone and be an Ally of Justice.

That was the only magic allowed to Shirou Emiya, the soon to be Wrought Iron Hero.

So it was with great irony that All the World’s Evils, Angra Mainyu, would be defeated by an embodiment of Justice that was birthed from the depths of its hellfire. 

And it was thus that Shirou Emiya parted with his Saber in the War, disappearing into the dawn as Fate separated them, both now bound to wait and search for the other for eternity. For years after, he searched and for her, to be reunited with her, doing everything he could in his power to save everyone.

But like before, it was not enough. 

He watched his older step-sister die, forever cursed to live her life trapped in a childlike body and die a premature death. He watched his friends and family drift apart, the strong bond they had severed as he continued to pursue his impossible dream. Even the twin-tail haired magus who tried sticking with him for as long as she could eventually gave out, unable to keep up with him and his ideals. He continued to watch as his powers failed to save everyone, his ideals being crushed over and over again, every single time.

And when it came to saving himself and continuing to struggle and fail striving for his dream under his own power, or saving a hundred people from a nuclear meltdown with a power beyond belief at the cost of his afterlife with her for an eternity of servitude to an existence that was tasked with ensuring humanity’s survival, it wasn’t surprising that Shirou chose the latter, firmly believing that now, now he could save everyone with this newfound power. 

Eventually he died, framed for being the mastermind of a war he desperately tried to stop. And he faced his death with a smile, holding no ill will towards the ones responsible for his execution, reasoning that if this what made people happy, then he would gladly accept his fate.

So when Shirou finally awoke as a Counter Guardian, he was eager to begin his duties to protect humanity. 

But his dream was not meant to be.

And the true hell began.

Slowly, battlefield after battlefield, he began to realize the true nature of those like him, and it drove him mad. Their duties were to save humanity, yes, but that was only when there were no options left. And when they were deployed as the last defense of humanity, they were to leave absolutely nothing behind. That meant everyone who had even the barest connection to the imminent destruction of humanity. It didn’t matter who they were: innocent or guilty, young or old, ignorant or aware, they all died.

He fought on countless battlefields<neveronceretreatingneveroncebeingunderstood> all across time and space, his ideals continually being broken before him. And yet he desperately tried to hold onto them, still naively believing he could still achieve them once again.

But one day, it all ended.

———————-

Once again he was called to rescue<kill>humanity. And once again, he answered<beggedpleadedresisted>. And once again, he was deployed<Stop!>to save<kill>humanity. He was now one of the best of the best<Ineverwantedthis!>, his record completely spotless, so it was no surprise that he was chosen for this particular task. 

But Fate can be cruel, and can reunite people sometimes in the most twisted of ways. For he was deployed to the one place he never hoped to ever step foot in. The one place he believed would never fall to something so dire that it would call upon the Counter Force to clean up the mess.

Camelot.

He had heard stories of its splendor from Saber, but what he saw looked nothing like what she described. The lush grasslands were all burnt. Trees that had once been bountiful in fruit now only bore death. Innocent animals were twisted beyond recognition and belief.

And all the while, Shirou looked on in heartbreak upon seeing his Saber’s beloved kingdom in flames. It just looked so desolate and corrupted that it simply couldn’t be real. He hoped it was a dream, just a terrible, but intangible dream, but the heat that washed over his person told him that it was all too real. And his dread began to grow.

To his horror, his body began acting on its own. His great black bow suddenly fell into one hand, and the modified sword with the power to rip space apart and a payload greater than a nuclear bomb fell into the other. His horror grew when his body began to take aim at a burning village in the distance, woefully unaware of what was to pass. Desperately trying to stop his body, he used every last ounce of willpower to take aim somewhere else, so that no one would have to die an unnecessary death. But against the Collective Will of Humanity, it was for naught.

Caladbolg II tolled the death of hundreds of innocents in one fell blow.

The next few days passed by in a blur. He, or rather, his body, eradicated villages and towns one after the other, and each day his dread grew, until he finally arrived in Camelot. The outer walls were weathered and broken, a lone tattered banner hung on the top, the cloth looking like it was about to rip in two at any minute. Waiting for him were all the Knights of the Round Table.

And above them all stood one Arturia Pendragon. 

No longer did she wear the royal Pendragon blue battle dress nor the shining silver face armor. No longer did she have shining green of her eyes nor the golden blonde hair. Hell, even that stray piece of hair was gone, the memories of when he’d absently played with it at home coming back in full force. No, none of that was present.

Instead, she wore a dress even darker than the night sky, her armor of the same color with angry red veins snaking all across the chest plate. Her eyes were a cold and cruel pale gold, and the once lustrous golden hair was reduced to a weak facsimile of pale blonde. Her sword, he could not see, hidden behind a shroud of vile winds. And each and every one of her knights were the same, a pale imitation of their former selves.

His dread had reached an all time high. He wanted to yell, to scream at the knights, despite their corruption, to get away from him lest they die. He wanted to let what remaining citizens there were escape, so that they could see another sunrise, and rally together to kill him so that they would not have to face this hellish day ever again. He wanted to fall before Saber on his knees, so that she could kill him before his Blade Works could ever reach her.

But that never happened. With an expressionless mask worn and controlled by his accursed contractor, he was forced to watch as his own body killed each and every Knight of the Round Table. 

Agravain fell first, cut down by an onslaught of dozens of low-ranking noble phantasms.

Bedivere was soon to follow, and having no special ability to help himself was quickly cut down by Triple-Linked Crane Wings.

Surprisingly, Mordred was the third, as the dragon-slaying sword Balmung lopped off her head, weakened by her draconic attribute inherited from Arturia. Irony at its finest.

Gawain and Lancelot were next, armor rent and shattered as the axe-sword of Heracles tore them asunder.

Galahad was crushed under the weight of mountain-felling sword Ig-Alima, which, despite only being a fake construct created from mundane materials pulled from Unlimited Blade Works, was more than enough to destroy the vaunted walls of Lord Camelot.

Tristan didn’t even have time to scream as Hrunting found purchase in his throat.

And soon, all that was left was Arturia, her face cold and emotionless like stone as she watched each of her Knights fall one by one. Only when the last knight fell did she enter the battlefield herself. 

For hours on end, the two fought. Despite the wounds she took, whatever was powering Arturia was powerful beyond what he initially believed. Wounds that would have killed even a high-ranking heroic spirit instantly regenerated, a sign that Avalon still had not left her. Shirou took it as a sign of hope, that eventually, his body would tire out despite the nigh-limitless mana he was being sustained upon by his contractor. But it never did. 

Eventually, she unveiled her sword from the vile wilds that it was sheathed in, and his heart broke even more upon seeing it. 

Like it’s owner, it was bathed in black. Unholy lines of angry red wove around each other like a double helix before coalescing together into one line that reached to the end of the flat. And unlike its counterpart, which radiated an aura of undying warmth and comfort, the corrupted holy sword radiated an aura of pure malice and bloodlust.

Its name was Excalibur Morgan, the corrupt Sword of Promised Victory.

And as the battle went on, it was becoming more and more obvious that Arturia, or whoever took a hold of her, was starting to grow more sluggish. There was a stumble here, and a slip there, armor stopped repairing itself, and her face, despite maintaining its cold and emotionless visage was adorned with multiple small wounds that never healed, which one again lead him to lose the hope within him. Avalon was gone.

And that fact was further waved in front of his eyes as he stabbed her in the chest with Caliburn. 

Like water, the corruption washed away from Arturia and vanished into mist, leaving no evidence that it was there, except for the blackened sword that remained behind. Like water, the emotionless expression was wiped from Shirou’s face, leaving only horror and denial. 

Silence took over as the King of Knights lay mortally wounded by the very sword that brought her down this path, an odd sort of peace falling down like the mists of a dew fall. She stared at the embedded [Caliburn], then at the scenery around the two, and then up at him, verdant orbs of green and blue shining, and he kew, that somehow, against all odds and impossibilities, she recognized him. She smiled, but there was no happiness within it, only relief at the end of her nightmare and forlornness at the scene that lay before her, and of what must happen again. 

So slowly, using the last of her strength, she gave him her sword, entrusting it to him. Using the last of her strength, she kissed him softly, conveying her final thoughts and feelings . Using the last of her strength, she hugged him tight, showing her gratitude. Using the last of her strength, she professed her love once more, as she faded into the dawn.

“Shirou…aishteru...”

And then she was gone. 

He stood there, unmoving, uncomprehending. Despite the reality of the situation, he desperately denied it, that Saber was actually still there, only in spirit form, and would just pop out laughing like nothing had ever happened. But it was not meant to be. 

Numbly, he carried her body and Excalibur Morgan into Camelot, Caliburn having long since dissolved into prana, removing the need to pull it out of her and manually let it disappear.. The castle was now empty, the citizens that once occupied the marketplaces and courtyards had either fled or died. Onwards he walked, making his way into the central keep, past the fabled Round Table, and stopping at the throne. There, he gently laid her body to rest. He stepped back and looked at her. She looked so peaceful, sitting there. Had it not been for the mortal wound ruining the appearance, one would even say she was sleeping, merely dreaming of happier times. 

And at long last, did he fall to his knees and cry. 

For the first time in eternity, Shirou let tears fall. All his grief, all his denial, all his sorrow, all his anger, and all his love were poured out in that one moment. For hours he knelt, weeping to a world that would never see the light of day again. And as the last tear dropped, it fell with a small, but audible splash onto the black Excalibur that lay before him. 

An odd sort of calm fell upon him as he picked up the corrupt sword from where he had dropped it. He held it with reverence, for, despite the evil that was now imbued with the former ]Sword of Promised Victory], it still held a twisted sort of beauty and elegance, and offered an impactful, yet comforting message to him. 

By entrusting her sword to him, she assured him that no matter what form she took, and no matter where his path led him, Arturia would be with him, always. For she was forever his Sword, as he was forever her Sheathe. 

And so it was with a smile that he stood up. As he faded away, he was filled with a sort of contentment, knowing that he would no longer be alone, and that she would be at his side, if only sword and spirit. 

As he returned to the vast wasteland of Unlimited Blade Works, Excalibur Morgan in hand, he recalled the foolish, idealistic idiot that he once was, and the trials he had to go through to get to this point. Had it truly been so long? 

Idly, as he climbed up the hill that held his most sacred keepsakes, he wondered how his past self would react to who he was now. Probably with some awe, and then-

He stopped, frozen as an epiphany came to him. Then he fell down to the ground laughing, noting with some amusement that no matter what happened to him, he still ended up being the naive and dense boy who summoned the King of Knights on a desperate hope. 

Of course. What if he got himself summoned to a Grail War and won? Perhaps then, could he escape this hellish afterlife. And as soon as that thought hit him, he remembered that, as a Counter Guardian, he basically existed outside of time and space, and such a wish would be impossible for him.

But then, that didn’t mean he couldn’t help his past self, now could he?

Because despite being a Counter Guardian, he technically was, by loose definition, a Heroic Spirit, one who transcended the Samsāric Cycle and entered the Throne of Heroes, albeit with the work of an outside force, or in this case, the Collective Consciousness of Humanity, Alaya. Therefore, with the right catalyst, he could be summoned into a Holy Grail War, so long as he had a wish. And with this newfound wish to save himself from the fate he was bound to, such a summoning could now be achieved.

With this information in mind, he waited patiently. He continued to be summoned to places where humanity needed the Counter Guardians all across time and space, but no longer would he be alone in this endeavor. Instead of the black and white blades of Kanshou and Bakuya, Excalibur Morgan took the center stage. It would never again become the holy sword that it once was, but its purpose had once again been altered. No longer would it needlessly kill any that stood in its way, now it would swing eternally in the name of true justice, and in memory of Arturia.

* * *

One day, his patience was rewarded. He was sitting in his reality marble when he felt his very being get pulled from the vast wasteland of blades. Expecting this as another deployment, he sighed, closing his eyes in acceptance, and stood up, preparing to exchange his Plain Red Mystic Code for the pale and tattered cloak he usually wore.

Therefore, his surprise was understandable when he found himself falling through a roof.

Slightly dazed from the impact, he almost missed the fact that he was standing, or rather, laying on the floor of a fairly large house, a mansion, almost. For some reason, the particular layout of the furniture, both broken and untouched, felt familiar, and the image of a red sweater and aqua-blue eyes flashed through his mind. ‘Whose place was it?’ He struggled to recall the name of the owner, but all he got was an ‘R.’

He heard faint cursing, and the sound of someone climbing up stairs. Quickly, he got up, sat down in one of the partially destroyed couches, and attempted to look calm and dignified. The door to his right suddenly slammed open, and he got a look at the figure standing before him. His eyes widened only a tiniest of a fraction, but it hid the surprise his mind was feeling, and the memories that began to come back in full force.

Rin Tohsaka. 

Oh, shit.

It really worked. He was actually in a Grail War as a Servant!

Inwardly, he rejoiced. If Rin was here, than that meant that his past self was most likely as well, and a master to top it off. 

He shut that emotion down as he began to task his priorities. Trying to save his past self was paramount to him, but discretion was a must in this situation. He needed to act differently than what his past self would act like, lest Rin become suspicious and try to force a Command Seal on him to reveal his identity. Not to mention he needed to test whether his past self would truly be willing to stand by his ideals when he revealed the truth. 

Fortunately, countless lifetimes of being a Counter Guardian with a shattered hero complex did wonders to change his personality. He had become more cynical and jaded, and, despite his still-apparent naïveté, was much more wiser than his younger counterpart. He knew almost everything that could happen in this Grail War, thanks to the deployments he had been sent on when the Grail War had been taken too far, and with such knowledge, he could both avert his younger counterpart’s once inevitable fate and screw around with the other participants for his own amusement. It was a win-win situation in his opinion.

Now, back to the present. 

He heard Rin complain, grumbling something about the ‘clocks running an hour early,’ or something like that, before she turned and asked something so dumb, so absolutely not-Tohsaka, that it was all he could do to hold in his laughter.

“What are you?”

Deciding to mess around with her, partly to mess with her, partly to keep his true identity a secret, he responded with, “That’s the first thing you ask me? My, my, my, looks like I was summoned by one hell of a master,” his voice dripping with sarcasm. On a whim, he added, “No, wait. It seems like I got the short end of the straw by getting summoned by a novice. How unfortunate.”

Rin glared at him, but reigned in her composure and asked in a tone more befitting of her person, if he was truly her servant. With a bit of snark, he asked if she was his master, neither denying nor confirming if she really summoned him to be her servant. It was obvious she got the hint, seeing that she asked him once more to confirm or deny her claim, stating about how ‘Servant and Master relationships should be established right off the bat.”

Idly, Shirou wondered if his Tohsaka has somehow used the Kaleidoscope and drugged her past self unconscious, seeing as how this would have been something she would have loved to shove in his face back in his War, but once more, he evaded the question, this time asking where her evidence was, if her determination to be a part of this ‘sacred’ ritual was only for show,

Oblivious to his double meaning, she simply showed her command spells to him, as if that was all that was needed. He sighed, and realized that he may need to take drastic measures, even if it meant wasting a command spell. “Those are meaningless to me. What I want,” He got up, walking over until he stood imposingly over his old friend. “Is to know if you are truly worthy of my loyalty,” he said. 

“Excuse me?” 

‘Now for the delicate part,’ he thought. Either Rin’s anger would cause his plan to go up in flames, or it would end up helping pull off the greatest(and most likely only) act of defiance against Alaya in history. 

“I’m completely dissatisfied with my situation. However, I will acknowledge you as my master, but only on one condition: from this point on, I will not listen to any of your commands, and will fight the war my way.” He smirked at the hidden rage in her eyes. “Surely you wouldn’t object to that, would you?”

He walked back to his landing spot and sat leisurely, as if he was sitting in some comfy lounge chair instead of broken wood and glass. 

“I see. So you will reluctantly acknowledge that you are my Servant, but will refuse to listen to my advice. And why? You are my Servant, are you not?”

“Indeed, but as I said earlier, I will only obey you in form only. I will be ‘calling the shots,’ so to speak. So until everything’s said and done, I suggest bunking down somewhere safe. If you do that, even a novice like you can survive the entire war.”

Her rage was now visibly palpable, and the tension was so thick that one could cut through it like butter. 

“Hoh? Have I made you angry, master? Please, do not worry. I hold much respect for the one who summoned me, even if they are a novice. My victory shall be your victory. I do not ask for anything in ret-.”

“SHUT UP! I’ve had it with you and your attitude!” Raising her arm, she began to chant. He got up. ‘Hook, line, and sinker,’ he thought, although the words that came out of his mouth said otherwise. “Wait, are you serious?! You’d waste a command seal on something like this?!”

“Silence! Listen, you are my goddamn Servant! That means absolute obedience to me! YOU’LL DO EVERYTHING I SAY!” A great wave of mana erupted from the command seal, washing over him as the magic began to compel him to follow her order. 

There was a brief bout of silence. And then…

“Gah! Are you kidding me?! I can’t believe you wasted a fucking command seal as something as trivial as this!” 

Rin looked away, obviously embarrassed at her outburst and rash actions. “L-let’s take this elsewhere.”

As he followed her to another part of the mansion, he felt a relieved and nostalgic smile on his face. 

And the rest was history.

Well, sorta. Now that he was here, he could begin to change the timeline in his favor. The Command Seal Rin placed on him would just help speed things up a little bit.

And so it was a day later that he faced Cu Chulainn, the Hound of Ulster, and the Servant Lancer at his school once more. But this time, he was ready. This time, he could fight. 

In his hands, were Kanshou and Bakuya. Although he had eventually stopped using them ever since he obtained Excalibur Morgan, the swords still served as a reminder of what would lay in store for whoever tried to follow the ideals that he once did. 

Not to mention the eyebrows raised at the corrupted sword. That, and getting killed by Saber before he could explain himself, which would be a painful subject either way.

And so once again he became the ruthless and broken Counter Guardian that he once was so long ago, his suicidal style of fighting flowed with the Chinese dao of Yin and Yang like water flowing down a gentle stream. 

Unfortunately, he got killed. Again.

Although, would it really count as dying if it was his past self, even if it was an alternate version of him, was the one who died? _‘Time travel,’_ he thought as he followed Rin to where his past self lay dying, _‘was confusing.’_

He watched in silence as Rin healed his past self with the red pendant, the exact same pendant that he held with him, the mana helping the wound close at a quick yet steady pace as tissue and muscle regrew, although a scar would remain from when Gae Bolg stabbed him in the heart. He should know, he still had his, after all. 

They followed his past self in discretion as he walked home. Granted, it was more like he got up to a high vantage point in the neighborhood and had Rin look through his eyes, but that was beside the point. What did matter was his safety, although it was more so Rin worrying about Lancer coming back to finish the job he started, and Archer praying that his younger self would summon Saber in time. 

They watched as Lancer came back, as expected, and Rin looked tempted to have himself come down to stop him.

But of course, as he had expected, that was rendered moot the moment they watched as a great wave of mana sent a small shock wave around the shed of the Emiya residence, and Lancer got himself kicked out of the building via the foot of one recently summoned Arturia Pendragon. 

She was just as stunning as he remembered. Regal green eyes that shone with a fire of determination, tempered by the patience of a king of her stature. She stood tall, projecting an aura of sterness, her armor glinting under the bright moon as the plants seemed to dance in exultation at the return of the Once and Future King. 

But she was not his Arturia. 

From that point on, things went on as they had in his timeline. He and Rin went down to the Emiya residence, which resulted in almost getting himself sliced in half by Arturia’s or rather, Saber’s sword. They negotiated, went to the church, his younger self and Rin talked to Kotomine, who had the insufferable smirk on his face, as usual.

Now, here was the first divergence: Facing Illya and Berserker. The last time, the Archer-class Servant(which he now highly suspected to be himself) in his war had died, facing Berserker head on, and alone, but not without taking six of his lives first. 

This time? No thanks. 

Instead, he split off from Rin, entrusting her, albeit reluctantly, to his younger counterpart. Normally, no sane Master or Servant would do something as idiotic as this, but this was his younger self that they were talking about. He wouldn’t do something like stabbing someone in the back, now would he? 

He materialized atop of a tall office complex, his sight unhindered. It’s been said that an Archer’s greatest weapon were their eyes, and in this case, such a statement proved true. His eyesight zoomed in on the large spikes of mana that he sensed behind him. Materializing his great black longbow and an altered sword, turned into an arrow to be launched. There was only one thing he could say in his situation, as he watched Fate begin to change.

_“I am... the bone of my sword.”_

He let go of the sword-arrow…

… And once again, Caladbolg II screamed, as it hit the towering giant.

Both parties soon retreated after, and only then did Shirou let loose a sigh of relief. That had been way too risky for his liking, but he supposed that there was no use in crying over spilled milk. His objective had been completed, and his younger self, as well as himself, would live to see another day. 

And now came the hard part of his plan. Because he had just created a major distortion in this timeline, events were sure to not go the way they did in his. One wrong move, and it could mean game over.

Days passed with some progress. His past self had gotten himself captured by Caster, only for him and Saber to intervene. Well, moreso Saber fought Assassin while he saved his past self and resisted Caster in more ways than one. It got to the point to where he was half-tempted to use Caladbolg II again when they got to a stalemate, but thought better of it, if only to help further his plans, and decided to let her go. His past self, being the naive idiot that he was, demanded to know why he let Caster be, knowing that she had been the one behind all the ‘gas leaks.’ Realizing that he would not accept his decision, Shirou cut his past self in the back, before kicking him off the temple steps. He attempted to follow up with his assault, hoping that he would realize exactly how weak was if he wanted to hold up his ideals, but was stopped by Assassin, who allowed Saber and her master to escape. 

Days later, when past and future fought each other, Shirou had to admit that he was rather impressed by how quickly his past self had grown.

Sometime after, Rider had been eliminated, although it was Caster who had done the deed, rather than Saber cutting her down. He and Rin continued visit Shirou and said Servant of the Sword from time to time, and he had begun to drop more hints about the truth of their(or rather, his) borrowed ideal here and there for his past self while Rin had(apparently) begun to dream about his past, if the odd looks she gave him several mornings after the skirmish at Ryouudou Temple were of any indication. 

He hoped that perhaps, this bit of ‘free time’ would give him some time to plan out what he should do next.

Oh, how wrong he was.

* * *

A day later, Caster had the amazing idea to hold Taiga, his old guardian and sister in all but blood, hostage. And in the process, his past self had given up his status as a master, albeit unwillingly and manipulated, giving Caster control of Saber.

That bitch was going to pay.

But could he honestly betray Rin in order to make that work? 

Well, considering he just willingly let Caster use Rule Breaker on himself? Yes, yes he could. He made a mental note to apologize later, though. 

The days he spent with Caster and her master passed by with a blur, holding nothing of note. Usually, he spent his time checking on the status of the other masters, or checking in on Caster as she dressed Saber in feminine clothing to satisfy her… obsession. 

As cute as Saber looked in a wedding dress, Shirou couldn’t help but feel like he was intruding on something private, which he probably was. 

And then, much to his relief, his past self and Rin came back, along with Lancer of all people. Guess he shouldn’t be too surprised considering who he was, although he had a sneaking suspicion it was because of Kotomine ordering him to do so anyways. Manipulative bastard. 

Two could play at that game, though.

He was promptly beat up by said Servant of the Spear two minutes later, in no part to his inferior parameters and E-ranked Luck, and then almost killed, courtesy of one Gae Bolg and the Aias’ physical drawbacks, but in the end… 

**“Rule Breaker.”**

Lancer was free from Kotomine’s control, and Caster now had another Servant. 

Sadly, as depressing as the Witch of Betrayal’s legend was, he couldn’t afford to take anymore chances. Not to mention, he still had a bone to pick with her for kidnapping his(former) guardian and foster sister.

And so it was with a few Traced swords and timing, he had ended the life of Caster, her master meeting the same end a few moments afterwards. 

Unfortunately, there was still a couple more things he had to address, one of which stood before him now.

“What are you doing Archer?”

Rin stood protectively in front of his past self, her hands glowing with mana as she began charging up a Finn shot, despite its futility against him. 

“Addressing something I should have taken care of a long time ago.” Kanshou and Bakuya dropped from his hands as he raised his right to show them all the truth. His world, his war, his identity.

_“I am… the bone of my sword…”_

Idly, he noticed his past self flinch as his words resonated with their souls.

“Oi, oi, oi.” Lancer dropped down from the beam he perched himself on and held Gae Bolg in front of himself. “As much as I appreciate you freeing me from that bastard of a priest, I still don’t trust you.” The spear began to glow and emit an ominous red aura. “I suggest you stop whatever it is you’re doing before I end up skewering you like I almost did last time.” 

He ignored Lancer. _“Unknown to death, nor known to life.”_ He looked up. “I’m afraid this is something I cannot do. Don’t worry, I only have eyes for one, and one alone. And no one is dying today, so rest easy, if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

“I have to agree with Lancer, Archer.” A newly-contracted Saber held her invisible sword out towards him, Invisible Air ready to blow him away at a moment’s notice. “I don’t know what you have against my master, but I will not allow you to do anything to him.” 

Shirou could only smile sadly at his former Servant, visibly unsettling everyone, even Lancer, as he spoke the three final words that embodied his soul. **“Unlimited… Blade Works.”**

And the world turned white.

When the light faded, Shirou was back where he belonged. 

Everyone looked around his Reality Marble in shock and awe.

“A magus…”

Rin turned to face Shirou. “You’re a magus.”

“Correct. In life, there was very little I could do as a mage. I suppose it would be more appropriate to call me a spellcaster. However, I took what little magecraft that I could utilize, and polished and perfected it to such a degree that no one, absolutely no one, could ever match me in what I could do.”   
  
He gestured to the sky, to the gigantic, turning cogs that slowly descended down from the dusty clouds. “And in the end, this world was my reward. If a Heroic Spirit’s symbol of authenticity is their Noble Phantasm, then this Reality Marble would be mine. A reflection of my soul, of the borrowed ideals that I inherited from my father.” 

“The very borrowed ideals,” Shirou pointed at his past self, who stood stunned, Kanshou and Bakuya falling slack in his hands. “That you now strive to fulfill. Let me tell you, Shirou Emiya: our ideals are fake. They have and never will get us anywhere in life. What you see before you, is the culmination of decades of striving to fulfill that impossible dream. And when that wasn’t enough, it led to an enslaved afterlife as a cleaner. It is for that very reason, that I have come to test you in this farce of a war: to see if you can achieve those ideals, or die failing.” 

“A Counter Guardian, eh?” Lancer rested his spear upon his shoulder. “Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting one before. Are all of them as cynical and bitchy as you?” Shirou snorted in amusement. “Some of them. Most are either bloodthirsty or just tired of their job. But that’s beside the point.” 

With nary a thought, Unlimited Blade Works disappeared, and everyone was back in the abandoned church. “If you really think that you can uphold the ideals that Shirou Emiya strives for, then it is up to me to show you exactly how large the power gap will be between you and your enemies. But that will not be today.” Shirou leapt up to the exit. 

“If you have anything to say, then I would say it now.”

Silence.

He turned to leave… 

“Archer.”

Shirou turned back to look at his past self as he spoke, and was pleased at what he saw in his eyes: determination.

“Just because you are correct, doesn’t mean you’re right. I don’t care if our dreams amount to nothing. So long as I can feel exactly what our, no, my father felt when he saved me that day, then that’s more than enough for me.” 

Shirou stood, his eyes closed, as he listened to the words of his past self. And for the first time, in a long time, felt hope for his past self’s future. Perhaps there was a chance that one of them, even if it was just one of them, could truly reach a happy ending for themselves, to prove that their ideals were not wrong, and that the impossible could become possible. 

But that was just a hope. He opened his eyes again, and turned to leave. “Einzbern Manor. Tomorrow.” 

“Why there?” 

“...Because the Golden King has already killed Berserker and his master. We won’t be interrupted.” He heard Saber(not his Arturia, he forcefully reminded himself) gasp audibly. He wasn’t surprised. 

She was like him, in a way. Left in a perpetual state where time had no meaning, both contracted by the same Will of Humanity. Therefore, it made sense that she would remember the Fourth Grail War.

He dashed off into the night, heading straight for the Einzbern manor. When he got there, he was treated by the heartbreaking sight of the dead Illya, lying on the floor like yesterday’s forgotten meal. 

In a few strides, he walked to her corpse. It was painful to see her go in his life, and that pain washed over him again as he picked up her dead body. He dug a grave for her, the manual labor help assuage some of the pain he felt, yet another kind of pain took its place. 

No younger brother should ever have to bury their older sister. 

* * *

The sun had begun to rise as he finished paying his final respects. He sighed in resignation. ‘Some outcomes were just inevitable.’ He thought. ‘Although, it doesn’t make them any less painful when they hit you.’

For the next few hours, he rested. The mana that Caster had supplied him with was plentiful, but he figured it was best if he conserved as much as possible for the coming fight, especially if he had to use his Reality Marble.

He didn’t need to turn around to sense the prana signatures heading towards him, however, he frowned at the number of them. 

“May I ask why you only came with Saber?”

“Rin and Lancer thought it best if they stayed away from us. We’re aware of the eighth servant you told us about, thanks to Saber, so the two of them are on the run, per se. For now, Saber’s here to make sure things don’t go awry.”

Said Servant huffed her displeasure at her current job, and at what her master was getting himself into, but said nothing.

“Archer.” 

Shirou glanced at his past self, gesturing for him to continue. 

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I mean. Why did you give up on our, no, my ideals?” 

He sighed heavily. “Do you know what your Servant’s wish is? Why she would willingly join this farce of a war to have it granted?” His past self looked confused. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Just answer the question.”

Silence. 

“I see.” He turned to face them. “Allow me to explain then,” he said, raising a hand at Saber. “Your Servant, is-.” 

“That is enough, Archer.” The hostility in Saber’s tone permeated the room, but it died down, when she turned to explain to her master. “Shirou, at one point in time, I did want the Grail. Only such an artifact of such power could help me achieve what I desperately desired.” She chuckled bitterly. “I was so close to obtaining it too, in the last war when I was your father’s Servant.”

“Saber?” His past self sounded shocked, unaware of the knowledge now spilling forth from the Servant of the Sword. She continued on, ignoring his surprise.

“Even now, I still desire it, so I can undo the mistake I made in life, the decision that made me King of Britain.” She reached out with a hand, seeming to grasp something within her palm. “And as a king, I failed my people, my ideals.” Then she turned around and looked up at him. “But you, Archer, you succeeded, did you not? So why are you here?” All Shirou did was point at her master.

”To test him.” _‘To see whether he can surpass me.’_

That train of thought went unspoken, but both past and future knew what the latter was trying to say. Call it intuition.

“...And if I pass?”

”Then nothing more. You will be strong enough to succeed where I failed, and that will be good enough for me. But if you fail,” Shirou stood. “Then I will not hesitate to cut down your broken body from where it stands.” Above all things, he desparately wished to see himself succeed, but it would be moot if his past self died unable to stand against what he had to face.

"Then before everything's said and done... Archer, did you have any regrets, when you sold your soul?" Shirou's eyes widened at his past self's question, stopping in his tracks, but he stared at him with resolution that had been born upon a hill of swords.

"Of course not," he answered, sincerity evident in his voice. "I could never regret the path I chose to walk down, no matter where it led me. Perhaps once, I would have, but not anymore. Even if I were to be consigned to a fate worse than the one I've been enslaved to now, I don't ever think that would change."

His past self smiled. "I see. I guess we're more alike than I once thought.

"Maybe so. Perhaps you can still escape the fate that would await us in the future." Shirou resumed his walk. "Let me tell you something, right here and now." He began walking down the stairs. "From this moment forward, you are nothing more than enemy. I will show no mercy to you, not even for one second. I will beat you down into the ground, trampling on your fake ideals until they are nothing more than dust in the wind."

“I know.” His past self began walking forwards, his steps calm, yet determined.”But if that’s what it takes to show that I will strive to be a Hero of Justice, then I’m ready.” 

“Hmph. We’ll see about that.”

Like a spinning coin, only one side would come out on top. And now, it spun faster than ever, as past and future met and clashed. 

“...Trace… ”

“...On… ”

Kanshou and Bakuya fell into their hands.

And the fight began.

* * *

They were back in his Reality Marble again. 

They fought. 

“Haaaahh!”

And they fought.

“Son of a bitch!”

And they fought.

Personally, it felt like it had been centuries since they first clashed blades against each other, but in reality it was probably less than five minutes ago. Idly, he checked his mana levels. Stable, but slowly draining with the Reality Marble taxing it at a large pace.

He would have to finish this soon. 

Lashing out with an armored foot, Shirou kicked his past self back down the slope they fought upon. He struggled to get up, the chipped and cracked blade of Bakuya still clenched in his hands. 

It did not repair itself.

“That’s too bad,” he called out. Your spirit outlasted your mana. Now it’s all that you have left.” 

Personally, he felt disappointed. As more and more swords rose from the ground, his hopes that the existence known as Shirou Emiya could still hold up their ideals without selling their soul dampened. 

“In any case, this battle between past and future has come to a close.”

“Y-yeah, you’re right, about that.” His past self coughed and hacked out blood, but managed to stand up on steady feet. “But, you can’t deny the beauty of our wish, can you?” 

Shirou had no words for that.

“If that’s the case, then I don’t care how hypocritical it is! I won’t ever give it up for anything in the world! ‘Cause,” the clouds in the sky began to move faster and faster, and they began to take on a lighter hue. 

“I know my dream isn’t a mistake!” 

All of a sudden, a small portion of the Reality Marble turned sky blue, the clouds a pure white. 

_‘His Reality Marble,’_ Shirou realized, _‘he managed to actualize it.’_

*static* 

His mind suddenly brought forth a memory of a night sky, where a man in a grey yukata sat alone as he stared up at the full moon.

‘Kiritsugu…’ 

How long had it been since he had thought of his father? Or even of that night? The night where he swore to take up his borrowed ideals?

He shook his head free of those thoughts. “Trace Bullet...fire!”

The swords at his sides flew towards the running figure of his past self. 

“It’s not…”

One pair of swords deflected.

“It’s not…”

Another pair projected. Another pair deflected.

“My dream,” 

_‘Our dream…’_

A third pair, larger than the rest. Deflected again.

“Is not a mistake!” 

_‘Was never a mistake!’_

His past self closed the distance between them, Bakuya in hand. He raised his own Bakuya, holding it in a reverse grip to stab at his back. In that moment, past and future locked eyes for what seemed like an eternity. 

Shirou closed his eyes in acceptance, and pride. 

Bakuya fell.

* * *

Blood dripped off of a white blade. Saber gasped.

“It’s over, Archer. I’ve won.” His past self looked forward, unwilling to meet his eyes.

“Yes, so you have.” Bakuya slowly slid out of his gut with a wet ‘shlink,’ but he barely even paid any attention the the wound as he focused on the one before him. In spite of himself, he could only smile in satisfaction at his success.

“Now that you’ve seen most of my memories, I think I don’t need to tell you anything else.” His past self shook his head. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen what happened at the facility. I won’t go down that path like you did.” 

Shirou snorted. “I should hope not. Otherwise my plans would have been for nothing. Live a happy life, Shirou Emiya. The road before you will be full of hardships, but you will not be alone. Remember that, always.” Jesus Christ, he sounded like Gilgamesh.

Wait a minute… 

“Archer!”

‘Shlink!’

‘Shlink! Shlink!’

‘Shlink!’

He suddenly found himself staggering forward. Surprised, he looked down, only to see the ends of several swords sticking out of him.

‘Well, shit.’ He turned to look up at the perpetrator. There was only one other Servant out there who could casually spam weapons, much less Noble Phantasms, like he could. 

“A meaningless battle between two Fakers. How utterly disappointing. Truly, this ‘modern era’ is far from appealing to a King who has seen much of the world in its former glory.”

Atop the stairs stood Gilgamesh, a hand in one of his pants pockets and several portals signifying the activation of Gate of Babylon. Saber stepped forward as she unsheathed Excalibur from Invisible Air. “You!”

Gilgamesh looked down at her, his blood red eyes narrowing and his grin grew wider. “Me.” 

“How are you still alive?! The Grail should have recalled you back to the Throne of Heroes!”

Gilgamesh laughed contemptuously, a hand on his face as he leaned back and released his amusement to the heavens. “Have you truly forgotten?” He looked down at Saber again. Despite the pain, Shirou felt himself twitching in anger at the lust in his eyes. 

“Think back to ten years ago, when you and I were the least two Servants standing. Your holy sword, rather than causing the Grail to be purified, instead released All the World’s Evils into the material realm, thanks to the mongrel that was your master. I suppose that the Grail’s response to his command was a more than suitable punishment for him, although I would have preferred to kill him myself. But we are getting off topic. Being in the middle of it all, the blackened mud fell upon me. Under normal circumstances, I too would have been sent back, just like you. However, I am no ordinary Servant, and was thus incarnated into a real body.” 

Saber staggered back at the news. “N-no, that can’t be! The Grail is corrupted?!” She looked at himself for any sign that Gilgamesh could be lying. He shook his head. Excalibur hung loose in her grip as she stared at the floor in shock. 

“As for the two of you,” the Gate of Babylon turned in conjunction with Gilgamesh as he looked at himself and his past self. “To see you create copies of my treasures is an insult of the highest magnitude.” The Gate expanded. “Die, like the worthless mongrels you are.” 

The multitude of weapons flew at them, and a decision was made. 

With an outstretched hand, Shirou pushed his past self away from the danger. He looked at him with a sharp eye. “Go. You’re the only one who can stop him now.” He turned back to the flying arsenal. **“Rho-”**

The weapons made contact with him, and everything went dark. 

…

…

…

_‘Your time is not over yet, Shirou.’_

All of a sudden, his vision returned. 

He found himself lying in a forest. It was… peaceful, and offered him a brief sort of reprieve from what he had to do now. He got up and sighed, checking his mana reserves once more. 

… Wait, what?

He was absolutely sure that they were running on fumes by the time he dismissed Unlimited Blade Works. Now he had just enough mana to summon his bow, and Trace at least a couple of Caladbolg IIs and twenty normal sword-arrows and several pairs of Kanshou and Bakuya. Now that he thought about it, he felt better than before, more complete, like he had taken a rejuvenating nap and woke up on a bed of feathers.   
  
He looked round the forest again, realizing that it was much more familiar than he had initially observed. It was the forest that surrounded Ryuudou Temple. Bewildered, he began to explore, noting that although his armor had been repaired, his coat was still in tatters from the massacre against Gilgamesh, and his hair had fallen down from its usual slicked style. 

‘...!’  
  
His ears picked up on the familiar sound of clashing steel. Interested, he headed towards the temple, stopping at the forest edge to find Gilgamesh being dragged into a swirling vortex, a chain on his wrist as the other end latched onto his weakened, yet determined, past self. _‘The Grail.’_ he realized, looking at the vortex more closely. He could feel its pull from even here. 

“Stay where you are mongrel,” Gilgamesh yelled at him, “at least until I can get the the other side!”

His past self’s feet slipped, then found purchase on the ground again as he desperately tried to unwound the chain on his arm. 

“Fat chance! I won’t ever let you get that opportunity, even if I have to sever my arm!” 

Silently, he summoned his bow and a sword, nocking it and Altering its shape. “Hmph. Go right ahead and cut off your arm, dumbass,” he called out. “But first take a step to the right.” In his shock, his past self inadvertently followed his command, just as he released the arrow. 

Gilgamesh’s bleeding and broken form could only stare cross-eyed at the arrow in his forehead. “Damn… you…” 

The chain, ‘Enkidu’, he noted as his mind immediately deposited the chains into his Reality Marble immediately slackened and let go of his past self’s arm, slowly disappearing with the King of Heroes as the swirling vortex closed. Shirou slowly walked up to him, bow in hand, and a smirk beginning to form. “So, do I get a thank you?” He asked, savoring the shocked look on his past self’s face as the smirk turned into a shit-eating grin.

His past self sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. “Just seeing that expression on my face is very disconcerting. I’d prefer not to see that again.” 

The two of them stood there for a few moments, until he broke the silence. “Where’s everyone else?” His past self stiffened, and then turned and ran. 

“Hey,” He reached out in a futile and half-hearted attempt to grab him, “where do you think… you’re… go…ing..?” He slowly looked up, past the trees, and up into the sky, where a black sun lazily hung among the clouds, pouring out an endless torrent of black mud.

Oh.

Oh.

He sprinted forward and grabbed his past self by his shirt collar, who cried out in surprise and protest. ‘Of course things would be that bad.’

‘Damn my E-rank Luck.’

* * *

By the time the two of them got there, the giant had almost finished constructing itself. 

In his opinion, it looked like someone had stuffed a giant purple doll incorrectly and smacked a glowing pink light on its face.

All around them, the blackened mud continued to flow out from the corrupted grail. He could see Saber standing at the ready, Excalibur unsheathed and glowing brightly like a star. Lancer on the other hand, was removing his spear from Kotomine’s corpse, an expression of disgust on his face as he looked at his satisfied smile.

“Yo,” he said, not bothering to turn around, “I was wondering when you would show up.” 

Before he could respond in turn, Saber let out a strained grunt. “If you would be so kind,” she voiced, “to save the the banter for later, I think that it would benefit all of us. Not that I am relieved to see you alive and well, Archer.” She raised her shaking hand for emphasis. “Now, will someone please help out Rin?” Said magus was currently struggling to get away from the Grail, a body-Shinji’s body-leaning on her, but the mud was doing a pretty good job of stopping them from escaping  
  
“Already on it. Just get back. As for you…” he looked at his past self, who looked exhausted. “Stay put.” Without waiting for a protest, Shirou retreated back into the woods. He turned back towards the corruption, as twenty swords filled with prana came into existence. With but a single command, he sent them flying towards the Grail. They impacted the mud with small explosions of prana, creating a path for Rin and Shinji. Seeing the opening now created for them, Rin began the short, yet arduous task of getting across.

It seemed like an eternity, but they made it. And before she collapsed on the ground, Rin gave one final command to Saber. 

“Saber, destroy the damned cup already! Destroy it until there’s nothing left!” And with that, her final command spell vanished. 

As for Saber, the previous command that had been imposed on her was lifted, and her aura exploded outwards as she gathered up all the latent mana surrounding the air. She raised her sword, her eyes alight with the fires of determination.

**“Ex-”**

The sword glowed a bright ivory as the mana compressed within the Holy Sword stirred, and for a brief second, just for one brief second, Shirou thought he could see another girl superimposed upon Saber. 

She wore a light blue dress, was barefoot, and had no armor. She looked so out of place in this battle, so vulnerable that just a light touch would do her in. And yet, despite her apparent vulnerability, she exuded an aura that was just as potent, if not more, than the Servant of the Sword before him. An aura that made him feel that somehow, everything would be alright in the end. He knew this girl. It was… 

**“-calibur!”**

_‘Arturia…’_

The specter vanished, leaving only Saber as she swung down her sword. The mana released itself in a streaking line of holy energies, its purifying touch eradicating the mud. Just when it was about to hit the giant, it released its own beam of corrupted energies. The two clashed, and stayed stagnant, neither willing to give in. 

And then, slowly but surely, the light of the Sword of Promised Victory began to push back the darkness. Inch by painstaking inch, the distance between Excalibur’s beam and the giant was getting smaller and smaller. Just when it was about to make contact, the giant let out a primal scream of anger. 

And then there was an explosion of light, and Shirou’s vision went black.

The last thing he saw was a gloved hand reaching out for him.  



	2. Arrival

Chapter 2: Arrival

* * *

Key: 

“Speech”  
‘ _Thoughts’_  
 _“Arias/chants”_  
 **“Noble Phantasm”**

* * *

Shirou regretted waking up. 

He could have just stayed in the nice and comfy bed he was lying in, but nooo, his curiosity and gratitude to whomever rescued them just had to win over his exhaustion. 

Even better, he could have committed suicide with one of his Projections and just be done with it, but his magic circuits wouldn’t activate either!

But now? He was standing in front of his ‘savior,’ an irritated expression on his face, wishing to be anywhere but here.

The reason for his irritation was currently sitting in a plush armchair, a shit-eating grin on his face.

He was none other than Kishur Zelretch Schweinorg, Number Four of the Dead Apostle Ancestors and current user of the Second True Magic, Kaleidoscope. 

“I’m sorry,” Shirou said, his eyebrow twitching, “could you repeat that again?”

Zelretch’s grin, if possible, stretched to beyond inhuman lengths as he calmly repeated his words to him like a parent does to a child. 

_‘Damned E-rank Luck.’_

* * *

**Earlier…**

Waking up was a very odd experience.

To be fair, being a Counter Guardian meant that he had been constantly and endlessly deployed to countless worlds, which gave him very little time for any form of reprieve. Usually, as soon as he was done with one mission, he was sent off to the next. It eventually got to the point where even the concept of rest was so foreign to him now, that at any point where he wasn’t needed, he would simply rest beside Excalibur Morgan and Avalon; the two artifacts from Artuia’s legend exuding an aura of peace and comfort, in spite of the former’s dark nature. 

That wasn’t to say that such an experience hadn’t felt pleasant. It just felt… strange for a higher existence such as himself to be actually falling asleep for once. 

Deciding that there was no use in thinking about it further, he swung his legs off the bed. As he stood up, still adjusting to being awake, he took stock of the situation. 

The first thing he noticed was that he was in some sort of modern bedroom. It was pretty plain, with graying-tan walls and no furniture besides the bed, a nightstand, and a desk with a lamp that looked like it existed around the time he died, which was to say at least thirty years after the time period that the Fifth Holy Grail War took place in. A door was to his left, slightly opened.

Neither his armor nor his Plain Red Mystic Code were on his person, having been replaced with… a cross between a kimono and modern-era clothing in roughly the same color scheme of his normal attire. The coat that replaced the top half his Mystic Code was slightly looser, and somewhat resembled the sport jacket he wore as a teenager. However, instead of the white front and back and navy blue sleeves, those colors were replaced with red and black respectively, and buttons replaced the central zipper. Even the little flower tassels from his mystic code were there, but they lacked the piece of cord that attached them together. Where his armored shirt had once been was a black kimono, but the hakama had simply been replaced by a set of boots and pants, so the ends of the kimono could be seen sticking out from under the jacket. The pants were also unarmored versions of his original set, although they didn’t appear to be connected to the boots anymore.

When his own circuits wouldn’t activate, he knew that something was very wrong. He could sense they were there, as evidenced by the presence of Unlimited Blade Works within his soul, but they had reverted to their dormant state, and there were no prana mediums in his near vicinity to use.

Perhaps it was a Bounded Field that negated magecraft? No, that couldn’t be it. If that was truly the case, then he wouldn’t even be standing here. He was, for all intents and purposes, a being purely composed of mana brought forth by a ritual. As such, he would have returned to his world as Heroic Spirit EMIYA. Even then, he wasn’t sure if such Bounded Fields actually existed. 

_‘No, that couldn’t be right either,’_ he thought. He had a weird, nagging feeling in the back of his head that told him that something didn’t add up. He reflected back on what happened in the last two minutes. Waking up? Feeling well rested? Okay, granted, Servants could feel and experience the same things humans did, but such experiences felt washed out and incomplete. 

But now? It felt like he was actually human again. Not a Servant, not a Counter Guardian, but an actual living, breathing human.

And that feeling did not sit well with him, not one bit. It made him feel vulnerable, and coupled with his now dormant circuits, he felt powerless to do anything.

Cautiously, he opened the door and stepped out into a short hallway. There were two other doors down to his left, both of them closed, before the end of the hallway took a sharp turn in the same direction. There was also a faint smell of… something. Was there someone cooking, perhaps? 

He walked towards the source, still cautious, his footsteps barely making any noise despite his boots. When he turned the corner, he was greeted with… 

_‘What the hell?!’_

And thus, Shirou’s eyes were treated with the absolutely horrific sight of Kishur Zelretch Schweinorg in nothing but an apron while making waffles, humming a tune that clashed horribly with the current setting.

* * *

 **Present time…**

As Shirou reluctantly finished his waffles, which he refused to acknowledge were delicious and appealing in any way, shape or form, Zelretch, with that ever-infuriating smirk on his face, started over. At least he had put on his actual clothes while they were talking. 

“It’s just as you heard, Emiya-kun. You’ve successfully stopped the Holy Grail War for good. Well, that, among other things.”

Shirou’s eye twitched even more. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about! Pulling Saber, Lancer, and I into an alternate dimension? Giving us actual bodies of flesh and blood? What the hell are you planning here, Kaleidoscope?! Knowing you, it’s something that you would do for shits and giggles!” 

The smirk widened even further. “Now, now, that would be telling, and that would ruin the fun I have in store for you three!” 

The now-former Counter Guardian growled in annoyance, but reluctantly went along with… whatever it was Zelretch was planning. He may be a bastard, and while he often did things for his own amusement, he usually never did so without a good reason. Most of the time, it ended up leaving everyone better off than before.

Most of the time.

“That still doesn’t explain why I don’t have my magic circuits, or why we’re now, oh, I don’t know, four hundred years into the future?!” 

Zelretch raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Calm down, calm down. As you’ve most likely noticed, your circuits are currently dormant, but it’s not like you’ll need them.” Seeing the murderous expression on Shirou’s face, he quickly added, “Not yet, anyways.” 

“And as for why we’re four hundred years in the future…” he let that comment hang.

Five seconds... 

Ten seconds…

Fifteen sec-

“That would also be telling,” he finished, the shit-eating grin reappearing on his face and looking positively infuriating at this point.

As much as Shirou would have loved to throttle the epitome of a troll sitting before him, he knew that would get him absolutely nowhere. Not only was he powerless, but even with his powers, backed up by Alaya or not, there was little he could do against the {Fourth Dead Apostle Ancestor}. With that in mind, he did the next best thing. It was by no means satisfactory, and would most likely bite him in the ass at a later point in time, but it was all he could do. 

“Fine. I’ll play your little game,” he spat, reluctantly going with whatever the troll had in mind. “But goddammit, as soon this is all over, I am going to do everything I can to put you on Alaya’s shit list.” 

Zelretch grinned again, not in the least bit afraid of Shirou’s threat. “I’d like to see you try, Emiya-kun. As much as it hates me, I’m afraid that the Counter Force knows all that I have done to keep the order of balance in countless universes, so I certainly doubt that will ever be the case. And besides,” he continued, getting up from the plush chair, “I have a feeling you’ll be here for a long, long time.” 

The chair faded into blue motes of prana until they too disappeared. “By the way,” the vampire-troll said, taking out his Jeweled Sword, “your friends are fine. They should be here in three, two, one.” With that, he slashed open a portal and stepped through, the portal closing itself behind him before Shirou could protest against that. 

Lancer had killed him once when he was a Master, then nearly again as a Servant, so he didn’t know what to think when he realized that they would most likely be living with each other for however long their stay was here. Saber was… Saber, nothing more, nor less. Even if their mannerisms were the same, even if their memories were the exact same down to the last action and word, she was still not his Arturia.

Speaking of the two Servants, just at the exact same time the portal closed, Saber and Lancer, carrying bags of groceries, stepped into the kitchen of their new… what was this place anyways? A house? A condominium? 

“Yo,” Lancer waved, setting down his share of groceries. “You’re finally awake. Took ya long enough!” 

“Lancer,” Saber scolded, “Don’t be rude!”

The Servant of the Spear waved her off. “Relax! It was only in good jest. What are you, my mother?” 

For the next few minutes, Shirou could only smirk in amusement as he watched Saber continue to scold Lancer like, as the Servant of the Spear put so aptly it, a mother. 

At the same time, he also noticed some differences about them. Well, aside from the clothing they wore.

Saber’s choice of attire didn’t seem to change too much. She wore a white blouse and with the usual blue ribbon tied around its collar. It was almost exactly like the one he had at his old home, although the blouse in question seemed much thicker than before, the cuffs and collar were slightly shorter and the ribbon was thinner and longer. Instead of a skirt, she wore a pair of form fitting khakis, and the boots were made of hard leather.

However, the main difference he noticed was in her body. Shirou was most certainly not a pervert by any means, being mostly dense and having dreams of being a [Hero of Justice] all his life, but even he wasn’t dense enough to not notice when someone matured into someone handsome or beautiful. Except for himself that was. 

For starters, Saber was taller than before, coming up just to the bottom of his chin rather than his chest. She had also gained some more curves to her body, but retained most of her wiry and muscular frame. Her bangs were longer, going down to rest upon her shoulders and her hair was put into a ponytail rather than the braid she usually had. Now that he thought about it, her voice also sounded a tad bit more mature than before. 

As for Lancer, he thankfully wore something more fashionable than the loud tropical shirt and black dress pants he’d sometimes see him wear back in the War. He wore a dark blue jacket, similar to a blazer, had leather padding on the elbows. On the left breast pocket of the jacket was a design of three arrows point towards each other, the symbol the size of a small shot glass. Underneath the jacket was a plain, form-fitting grey t-shirt, and a necklace with a wolf pendant. The pants he wore were the same shade of blue as the jacket, and were slightly baggier than the shirt. His belt and shoes were made of leather, the light color a stark contrast to the dark ensemble of his other articles of clothing. 

The Servant of the Spear was also noticeably younger than when he had last seen him, definitive angles being replaced by softer edges and slightly less defined muscles, not that it made too much of a difference. His voice had lost a hint of maturity and seemed much more lighthearted and casual, like a young adult fresh out of college. His hair was much more wild and shorter than before, the rat tail reaching to the middle of his shoulder blades rather than the middle of his back. 

“You guys have changed quite a bit I see,” Shirou said, voicing his thoughts. Saber blinked in confusion, then realized what he was talking about.

“It’s been an… odd experience to say the least,” she agreed. “While I feel like this is the body I’ve had all my life, I know that this was most certainly not the case. It does feel nice, though, to be a little bit taller.” 

“You on the other hand, don’t seem to have changed at all,” Lancer quipped slyly, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Both in body and attitude.” 

Rather than letting the comment get to him, Shirou simply shrugged. “Wouldn’t it feel weird to have your personality change within the span of a few hours?” Lancer looked like he was about to retort with another quip, but then paused and thought about it, before nodding his head in agreement. “Hmph. Guess I can’t argue with that.”

The minutes of silence that went by felt like an eternity. Had it really been just one day since they were facing off against All the World’s Evils? And now here they were, stuck in an alternate dimension four hundred years into the future, with no way to get back home. It was really hard to not feel out of their element in this situation.

Suddenly, the sound of something growling broke the silence and drew their attention from the looming matter. It was loud… 

And very, very familiar.

That being said, Shirou couldn’t help but let a grin spread across his face upon seeing a certain King of Knights trying her best to remain her composure and dignity, but failing spectacularly. Lancer, on the other hand, had no such reservations and let out a hearty chuckle, greatly amused by the spectacle. 

“Alright Saber, I think your stomach has made its point,” he said, picking up the groceries and placing them on the counter. He peered inside, and was pleased by what he saw. “Lunch will be ready within half an hour, so just wait in the dining room.” 

As he put on an apron hanging by the doorway, a new one, mind you, because he absolutely refused to wear the one Zelretch wore earlier, rifling through drawers to see where the kitchenware was being stored, he couldn’t help but let a nostalgic expression creep onto his face. Perhaps they couldn’t return to their world, but if one good thing came out of it, it was that opportunities once long gone could now be taken.

‘Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all…’

* * *

“Tadaima!” After a long day of work and a couple hours of shopping, Shirou came back to the house with a hefty amount of groceries in his arms. Closing the door with his foot, he stumbled over to the counter, just barely managing to set the bags down before they could fall from his arms. 

He could feel Cu viewing the scene with some amusement from the couch as Irishman watched some football. 

When he finished placing the groceries in, he walked over to the dining table, sitting down and face planting on the wood with a loud ‘thunk’.

The three of them had been living with each other for several months now, each day filled to the brim with awkwardness and angst, the latter mostly on Shirou’s part. Still, they managed to get to call each other on a first name basis, though they had the occasional slip of the tongue and would say their Servant class instead. 

They were worried about funds for their house and lifestyle, but Zelretch had been ‘kind enough’ to leave them the world’s equivalent of two million U.S. dollars, three I.D. cards and driver’s licenses, and some hours later, new memories of a life never lived.

It caused the three one hell of a headache when they had woken up the next day.

Speaking of the troll, Shirou had no doubt that his twisted sense of humor must have come into play when plotting this grand plan of his. Although it just have to do with his Counter Guardian persona, he couldn’t help but feel slightly irked that humanity currently relied on a giant ball floating above Russia to help solve their problems. Sure, there were some upsides to it; humanity had a longer life span in general, colonization on other planets was possible, and employment rates were at an all time high, hardly anyone was in poverty or homeless. 

But still… whatever this Traveler was, it was something very powerful, enough so that it must have had a few enemies lurking out there in the vast expanse of space. And knowing his luck, it was only a matter of time before they would come knocking. 

Moving on, the three had discovered that they had been transported to Berlin, Germany of all places and said county just so happened to be close to where the home of the Einzberns had once been. Keyword: Once. Apparently, this universe’s Einzbern family had all but died out two centuries ago. Their last known heir was a woman by the name of Leysviel von Einzbern, who died fifty years before the present day of this world. And no, they were not alchemists like the ones of their own. Still, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. A harsh reminder of… 

_‘Onii-chan!’_

He quickly quashed that train of thought. 

Speaking of homes, the place that they lived in was set in almost the exact same layout as his old residence, sans the walls and Japanese architecture. 

“Shirou.” Looking up from his spot on the table, he could see Arturia sitting across from him, a concerned expression on her face. “Are you alright?” 

Even worlds apart, the former Servant of the Sword always remained the same. She was like a pillar that he could fall back on, a constant that always remained in his life. Her presence kept him sane, so perhaps, if he had never fought her all those centuries ago, he would have never been able to pull himself out of the rut he got stuck in, and would have instead wished to erase his existence entirely.

Within his soul, he could feel Excalibur Morgan resonating from the close proximity of its wielder. Even with his magic circuits dormant, Unlimited Blade Works was always present in spirit. It was his soul, after all. A part of him that, even without magecraft, could never be taken away. 

“I’m quite fine, thank you,” he said. The woman across from him raised an eyebrow.

“So you say, but that certainly doesn’t seem to be the case. You look like you’ve swallowed a lemon.” 

He internally sighed. Life never did get easier for him, did it? On one hand, he was touched by the concern the former Servant had for him. On the other, she was also a double-edged sword. Yes, she did unknowingly keep him emotionally stable, but at the same time, seeing her[butnother] caused a never-ending source of longing to deepen. “… Just some bad memories.” 

Arturia nodded in understanding. She too had her own fair share of them at times. As did Cu. They were never something the three liked to talk about; regret for a choice made in life, a decision in battle that had gone wrong, the loss of a loved one. Sure, they learned to move on from them. Mostly. But the emotions were still there. 

“Ah, well, enough about the negatives.” Shirou stood up and got ready to prepare dinner; manually sorting through utensils and spices for the meal he had in mind.“Last I remember, the two of you were still looking for a university to attend. How’s that going?” 

Lancer was the one who answered this time. “Funny you should ask that. We found one that had a great teaching course that seemed interesting…” 

* * *

**Ten years later…**

“That will be one thousand Glimmer. Have a nice evening.” Shirou pleasantly waved goodbye to the last customer of the day as they transferred the programmable matter to his work account. 

Ten years had passed since he, Lancer, and Saber had first arrived in this universe, the three of them slowly but steadily adapting to their new environment. With their new bodies, each of them had begun to properly age like normal humans. By now, they were all more or less in their mid-thirties, though they only looked a little more mature than when they had first arrived, and were still in the prime of their lives.

The three of them had continued to bond with each other, becoming more or less like a family within that timespan. Cu and Arturia were the older siblings, and Shirou was the youngest, although responsibility-wise, one would think the opposite.

Lancer had become a track and field coach for the local high school nearby. With his experience in running, it wasn’t surprising to see how he had been easily accepted into the teaching position. Granted, he still had to go through school and get a teaching license, but in the end it was well worth the work, and all the students and staff loved him. When he wasn’t coaching, he would take odd jobs here and there, like selling fish, doing flower arrangements, and, at one point, babysitting.

While it was still hard for Shirou to imagine the Hound of Culann being able to take care of children, much less actual babies, he could understand where the urge came from. It was a chance to see what he had missed out on being a father, a reminder of the son who had fallen to his own spear in combat. Let it never be said that Cu Chulainn was a bad caretaker. 

Saber, on the other hand, taught at an elementary school only several blocks down the street. Like Lancer before her, Shirou also suspected that she too did this out of guilt, most likely because of being unable to understand the feelings of her subjects and Knights, especially Mordred. 

As for himself, Shirou made his own mark on the community with his food cart. It grew in popularity over the years, knowledge of its existence traveling by word of mouth throughout the entire city, and even beyond. 

Of course, to someone like himself, it was only a modest business, with modest food and modest staff(read: just him). At least twice a month he would see the same person show up at the counter, oftentimes with a friend who had never heard of his business, and in turn they would bring their own friends to check it out. He earned more than enough to get by for the three of them, although the jobs the other two former Servants had helped a lot to keep the house in good shape.

Shirou finished closing up shop, which fortunately wasn’t too much of a hassle, considering it was only limited to a food cart. It did take a while, and after an hour and a half of cleaning, he was done. Locking the door, he got into his truck to head to the market. He had no doubt that Arturia and Cu were waiting for him at home, and were probably hungry too. 

Suddenly, there was a massive ‘CRACK!’ and Shirou saw something large and bright streak across the sky, watching it fall, fall, fall. When it made impact many dozens of miles away, in a vast forest, he could feel the tremors left in its wake from where he was standing.

Normally, he would dismiss it as just some failed science project, or one of Rasputin’s Warsats that came crashing back down to Earth. Such occurrences were rare, but not out of the ordinary. 

But this was something else entirely. The feeling that came with the object was something else entirely. It felt just like the Traveler’s power. 

_‘They’re here.’_

His suspicions had finally come true. Whatever was out there, whatever was hunting the Traveler, had finally arrived. He did a quick u-turn in the street, which was thankfully absent considering how late it was, and went home as fast as he could. Did the others feel it too? 

And then, he felt another surge in power. But unlike the first one he, it was dark, oppressive even. A massive wave of wispy black smoke erupted from out of nowhere, towering over even the tallest buildings. Up and up it went, continuing to rise higher with every passing second. And when it reached its crescendo, it came crashing down so fast he barely had time to blink before it hit him. His hands went slack, unknowingly turning the wheel to a sharp right and the vehicle veered out of control. 

The damage to both him, his truck and the house he crashed into were catastrophic. The truck’s gas tank had ruptured, triggering an explosion that engulfed it and its occupant in flames. And yet, Shirou didn’t move. How could he?

He had died the moment the dark wave hit him, after all.

* * *

**??? years later…**

From the moment of their birth, every Ghost could feel a connection to the one they were destined for, their Guardian. 

They didn’t know how. The connection, that invisible string of fate, just tied them together in a way that could not be explained by reason alone. It just was. 

Heck, they had no idea what their Guardian looked like, much less were like. Whether they were a teen or old man, kind or cruel, was a complete mystery. It was just a matter of faith in the connection, that the person whose destiny would now forever be unbound from time, space, and fate would be someone worth resurrecting. 

Such were the worries that continued to plague the Ghost’s mind as he continued to search skeleton after skeleton. 

It had been over two centuries after his birth. He remembered that day so vividly. It was so dark out there, the only source of light being the red and orange fires of hell burning down everything around him. While his brothers and sisters took to the skies, intent on finding the one they were destined for, he stopped to stare at all the destruction caused by the battle between the Light and the Darkness. 

_‘You cannot save everyone.’_

Those words had never left him since then. 

Everywhere he went, he saw death. 

A collective of machines rousing from their eons long slumber, red eyes unblinking as they continued to terraform a planet once full of life.

An army like no other, eradicating any form of resistance as they marched, forever onward, across harsh red sands.

A vengeful race, fallen from the Traveler’s Light, intent on reclaiming what was once theirs as they invaded the cradle of humanity.

And an ancient evil, envoys of their mortal enemy, burrowing deep beneath a satellite of lifeless rock. 

_‘You cannot save everyone.’_

For months, he floated aimlessly lamenting the woes of the universe. 

But soon, all around him, the dead came back, resurrected by the Light and becoming Risen, the Traveler’s and humanity’s last line of defense. A beacon of hope. A pillar of strength and knowledge.

The wall of Light against which the Darkness breaks. 

They would protect the last of humanity, guide them, save them in their darkest hour. Or so he thought. 

The remnants of humanity that survived the Collapse were enslaved, brought to heel under an iron fist by the Warlords, Risen who used their newfound immortality for their own gain. For decades they 

But at last, came a warrior of true and noble heart. He gathered like-minded individuals to his cause, both Risen and mortal. With their powers combined, they toppled the Warlords from their thrones, some even joining their cause. They were known as the Iron Lords, the first of those who would one day become Guardians. 

With their arrival, hope returned to humanity. 

And hope returned to him too.

_‘You cannot save everyone.’_

_‘But you can still save one.’_

Afterwards, inspired by their valor, the Ghost began to search fervently for his Guardian, praying for one that would be just like the Iron Lords. A hero for the people. 

He searched everywhere he could, from the red sands of Mars to the verdant green of Venus. But no matter where he searched, there was nothing, no little spark of light that was tethered to him. 

Disheartened, he returned to Earth. 

A city had been built under the Traveler. The Last City some called it, the final bastion of humanity and Light against the Darkness. Floating in front of his creator, he silently questioned his own creation. 

Was he not meant to be? Was he a mistake? All of these questions and more spewed forth like a waterfall. And through all of it, the Traveler remained silent, like it always had after the Collapse. 

He began to float away, his digital heart shattered into a million bits of data. But before he could get too far, he felt a lone tendril of Light embrace him. It soothed his weary frame, gave him assurance that there was no mistake in his creation. He, like his countless other brothers and sisters, were meant for one person, and one person alone. 

And then a vision came to him. He was a soaring eagle, flying high in the clouds, with no end to them in sight. He felt weightless, as if the clouds were giving him the extra lift to keep on going. Then he dive-bombed, dropping far, far below them. And lo, the clouds gave way to a vast world of blades. Thousands upon thousands of them were stuck point-first into the ground, with thousands more just over the horizon. All around in the sky hung massive gears, their rusted bodies still and silent. 

Suddenly, the clouds gave way, and a blue sky gave light to the world. Blades of grass began to sprout up between the swords, growing until the once dusty ground was covered in verdant green. The gears gained a shiny luster, the rust falling away into nothingness as the gears began to move by some mysterious power. 

It looked so lonely and desolate before, but now it possessed an ethereal beauty like no other. 

His vision began to move once more, moving forward to stop at a lone hill. Until one reached to top, there were no other blades for a hundred meter radius. Upon that hill stood three blades, two the blackest of night, the other a pure white. Of the two black blades, one was a twin to its opposite colored blade, falchions, with a yin-yang symbol engraved at the base of their guards. They stood crossed against each other, guarding the third blade, an English longsword that despite its dark appearance, outshone all the other swords he had seen. 

And then he came to the sheath. 

It was designed simply, if a bit wider than most sheaths, colored blue with gold enamel. Just below the throat was a series of strange markings. For all the power and knowledge he was given by the Traveler, the Ghost couldn’t decipher its meaning, but it invoked a large amount of power. It glowed brightly, blinding his lone optic until all he could see was white. 

When the light faded, he was flying above a desolate city. Once again, his vision dive-bombed, heading past the large buildings and into the suburbs. It came to a stop, right in front of a broken down truck that had veered off the road and crashed right into a house. The vision zoomed onto that truck, to a badly burnt and broken skeleton limply sitting in what was once the driver’s seat. And there, upon laying his eye on it, he felt a little tug in his spark. 

His Guardian.

The vision disappeared, and the tendril of Light vanished. But the warmth brought by it still remained. He knew where to go. 

Silently thanking the Traveler for its benevolence, he sped off towards his final destination. He traveled for hours, passing over dark forests and budding villages. After the fifth hour, he had completed his journey. Down he went, flying to where the vision had led him. 

He came to a stop, and there was his Guardian, in the exact same place as he saw in his vision.

Nearby his position, he felt two pulses of Light come from somewhere. The resurrection process. More Guardians. He shook those thoughts clear for the time being, there was now time to focus on that, despite the good fortune three new Guardians would bring, not when he floated before his own!

He let the ambient pool of light within him begin to stir as the resurrection process began. He’d heard that it was an uncomfortable experience for both Guardian and Ghost the first time around, but at this moment, after centuries of fruitless searching, all he could feel was utter joy.

_‘At long last, I have finally found you!’._

He took in all the history of the skeleton before him, every muscle, every cell, even some… odd, nerve-like circuits that seemed to be a natural part of his body. He figured there was a reasonable explanation for their existence, although that explanation would be forever lost to a life long gone. Maybe it had to do with the first part of the vision he saw? 

One resurrection later, and there before him lay his Guardian, clad in the standard armor for all those just resurrected. He was tall, just over six feet, and solidly built. Despite his young appearance, his hair was a pure white, and his skin a deep tan. Slowly, as his eyes opened, revealing shining pools of silver, the Ghost only had one thing to say.

“Guardian? Guardian? Eyes up, Guardian!” 

_______

  



	3. Revival

Chapter 3: Revival

* * *

Key: 

“Speech”  
_‘Thoughts’_  
_“Arias/chants”_  
**“Noble Phantasm”**

* * *

When he opened his eyes again, Shirou found himself atop the hill of Unlimited Blade Works once more, the turning of floating gears in the sky creating a quiet ambience. He sighed, once more resigning himself to his inevitable fate. ‘Great,’ he thought. ‘Welcome back to hell.’ 

He flopped to the ground, lazily sitting against the flat of Excalibur Morgan, and looked up to the blue sky of his Reality Marble, lost in thought.

He had a good run, he figured, a brief respite from the eternal servitude of Alaya, but one that was welcome nonetheless, in spite of the one had caused it. It was nice to live a normal life, an experience that he hadn’t had the chance to relish in for a very long time. And so he waited for the call that would inevitably come. A call for salvation. For slaughter.

Except the call never came. He waited for what seemed like hours, but there was still no mental pull, no mission parameters, no nothing. 

Curious, he wondered what on Earth could stop the Collective Will of Humanity from accessing its Counter Guardians. Only a handful of beings could outright defy it, and even fewer were more powerful. It didn’t help that just about all of them were TYPES, and he highly doubted they would do something like that just for him. 

Oh, who was he kidding? They’d just kill him and be done with it before moving on to the rest of humanity. 

As the hours grew, so did Shirou’s concern. Remembering their talk ten years ago, he began to wonder what exactly the old troll had done this time. Zelretch never even mentioned anything about Alaya or Gaia, although he hinted of their potential existence if his words were anything to go by. 

If that was the case, had transporting them to a timeline where Gaia and Alaya’s influence was so weak done something to negate his contract? Or was he simply bound to the Alaya of this world now? Shirou really didn’t want to know. 

Still, he continued to ponder, coming to an endless series of dead ends and holes as he continued to come up with new theories and assumptions for this strange(and terrifying) phenomenon. 

Eventually, he gave up altogether, coming to terms with his isolation from the Counter Force. Seeing as there was nothing he could do at the moment, Shirou stood up from his spot against Excalibur Morgan, figuring that he may as well explore his own world once more after a decade of being unable to return to it. Not that he minded, of course, but the heart always grows fonder after years of separation from something integral.

* * *

He came across Durandal first. 

The sword was heavily rusted, and had been chipped and cracked in several places. The red gem that once lay in its pommel was missing as well. The sword here was a paradox, funnily enough, considering that Durandal was a Noble Phantasm that was said to be indestructible. Roland, a man stronger than himself, couldn’t even put so much as a scratch on the flat of the sword.

Then again, everything here was a fake, and the Durandal before him was no different.

When he removed the sword from the ground, the rust fell away like water, and the chips and cracks faded, restoring the blade to its former glory. Turning it in his hands, he admired the craftsmanship put into the blade. 

He had never actually used the sword in any hand-to-hand combat situations, although he did have some experience with many different kinds of weapons, the long sword included, aside from the knowledge that naturally flowed into him from the experience of the previous wielders. 

Caliburn had been a sword he’d often used before his life as a Counter Guardian, he had later exchanged the Golden Sword of the Victorious for Excalibur Morgan when he’d been given the blade by its… previous owner. 

Gae Bolg was also another weapon he would use on occasion, along with Gae Dearg and Gae Buidhe, but the less said about the former, the better. He swore it would still try to aim for his heart whenever he’d put it to use against enemies that warranted its presence. Regardless, it was still a Noble Phantasm that saved his life one more than a few occasions, so there was no denying its effectiveness in battle.

Still, despite the effort he put into learning to wield each weapon, none of those styles or weapons were ever meant particularly for him, no small thanks to his hopelessly broken mindset. Almost all of the weapons in his Reality Marble were meant for one person alone, with only a rare few ever being passed down to another, and not all remained in the same form.

Such was the case of Durandal’s predecessor, Durindana, the famed spear of Hector of Troy. 

Speaking of said weapon, it was planted into the ground right next to its descendant, looking every bit as rusted and cracked as Durandal before he removed it from its earthly sheathe. 

Shirou planted the sword back into its resting place in his Reality Marble, watching it as it returned to its former state before moving onwards. If he was going to be stuck here for an indefinite amount of time, why not do something to make it go by faster?

* * *

Shirou continued to wander, picking up the weapons that caught his eye, or infused a bit of nostalgia within him.

Arondight. 

Sugari no Ontachi.

Hrunting.

Gae Dearg and Gae Buidhe.

Weapons, mostly swords, littered the ground, stretching far beyond the horizon. There were ones that made him smile, ones that repulsed his very being, others that tried to consume him, even ones wanted to do things that… he wouldn’t dare to describe lest the very thought of it drove him insane. He wisely decided to stay away from those under the latter groups for the time being. 

Truly, his world was filled with a large variety of blades. 

It was when he set down the last sword he was holding(a mundane one that had been used in the times of the Roman Empire) that he felt a faint tug on his being. He frowned. Odd. 

It felt nothing like Alaya’s summons to a new mission, nor did it feel like a summoning ritual, much less the Grail War. No, this was… something else entirely. He felt no malicious intent coming from it, but the fact that someone or something managed to pierce its way into his Reality Marble spoke volumes of the power behind it. 

The tether strengthened and solidified its hold on him, and he could hear a voice, but the words uttered were inaudible. His frown deepened, but more so in contemplation than in wariness. 

Perhaps it needed someone from the other side to fully establish the connection? If that was the case, there were several overall scenarios that could occur. If he did accept whatever was on the other side of this tether, he would most definitely be at the mercy of said being who brought him back from his Reality Marble, so a fifty-fifty chance there. On the other hand, he had no idea what would happen if he didn’t accept either, so another fifty-fifty chance there. Even now, he could begin to feel it fading away. So many variables to consider, and so little time to choose… 

And yet, somewhere in his heart, in his soul, he knew what the right choice was.

The sky filled with sparkling blue motes of prana, and the land of blades became devoid of life once again.

* * *

“...rdian? Guardian! Eyes up, Guardian!” 

Sound.

Smell.

Taste.

Color.

Touch.

One by one, Shirou’s senses slowly returned to him as he came back to the land of the living. He felt sore all over, like he had a planet dropped on his back before ORT dropped on the planet as well. 

He should know. That damn TYPE actually did that once to him.

Blinking a few times to clear all the bright spots away, he finally got a good view of whatever forsaken world he had been dropped into… 

… And promptly came face to face with a robotic eyeball.

He shot up, or at least attempted to do so. He felt a very sharp spike of pain lance through his knees at the sudden movement, muscles and tendons creaking in protest. With a thud, he fell back down, his back hitting something hard, which caused his body to flare up in even more pain. 

“Hey, easy there! The resurrection process can be rough for first-timers, so it’ll take a while to adjust to your body again..”

Resurrection process? First-timers? What did he get himself into? 

“Wha…” He got a proper look at his surroundings. Rusted cars. Broken and worn houses. Ripped up streets. No life in sight. Never a good sign to a Counter Guardian. What made it worse, he realized, was that he back in the same place where he’d died. Turning around, he found out that the hard object his back hit was his truck. 

And then, he looked at himself. Instead of his old clothes, he found himself garbed in a skintight suit complete with armor and robes. Not as comfortable as his normal armor and mystic code but still seemed fairly functional and durable despite its outlandish appearance, enough to be tear resistant and be able to stop small arms fire. The color scheme was meh, being a mix of tan, cream, dark grey, and white trim but it wasn’t like he had an eye for fashion anyways. 

In a moment of forgetfulness, Shirou unconsciously tried to reach out to his contractor, demanding to know why he was sent back here of all places, before promptly remembering that his connection to the Counter Force seemed to be all but severed. 

He mentally cursed in several different languages, his native one included. The situation seemed to exponentially worsen with this sort of scenario. No Alaya meant no more nigh-limitless prana, which also meant that he couldn’t really be considered a Counter Guardian anymore either. Although he probably should be rejoicing at the fact that he was potentially out of his accursed contractor’s reach, the realization that he was back where he had died, 

And now, he found himself in the very same situation ten years ago. Minus that damn troll, of course, so that was a plus. Thank goodness for small mercies.

“You…” the little construct looked at him, confused. “Yes?” 

“Who…what are you? Where am I?” The construct perked up. 

“Oh! I’m a Ghost. Well, now I’m your Ghost. We’re facets of the Traveler, our creator. Our mission is to resurrect and bond with our hosts so that they can fight to protect the Traveler and the last of your race. Don’t worry, it’s a symbiotic relationship, not a parasitic one.”

That didn’t make Shirou too relaxed, but at least it seemed that he wouldn’t be controlled by whatever… this construct was, so he supposed it was a plus. 

“Seeing all the decay and weathering on your skeleton before I resurrected you told me that you’ve been dead for a very, very long time, perhaps around the end of the Golden Age of humanity. So, welcome back to a new life. Wish I could throw a celebration, but that’s not possible now.” 

If he had any initial doubts, they all vanished with those words. The apparent snark at the end didn’t help.

“Wonderful, just wonderful.” Shirou muttered. 

He stood up, albeit with a large amount of difficulty; he could hear his bones creak in protest, and felt muscles twitch from the strain of supporting his weight. How odd. He appeared to be in his prime, so he didn’t know why he felt like his actual age rather than the body he was in; which goes without saying, he was far past the average human life expectancy.

“Damn you, Kaleidoscope. What the hell did you drop me into?” 

The Ghost looked at him, confusion again evident on its face… thing. ‘Oh, what the hell,’ he figured, ‘might as well just call it an eye.’ “That’s certainly an odd thing to say You seem to know who you are, so do you have any memories from your previous life? Most Guardians don’t even remember anything of their past.” Shirou put up his hands to stop the construct from asking anything else. He decided to do what he did with Rin when he got summoned as her Servant.

“Please, just… no questions for now. This news you’re giving me While I do have my memories,” he pretended to sigh in frustration, “I seem to have a few holes in them, but there’s just enough to know who I… was.” 

Which was a lie, of course. He’d experienced worse and all memories were perfectly intact, but he still didn’t trust this thing just yet. In time, perhaps, but certainly not now, and maybe not ever.

The Ghost’s eye lit up in curiosity. “Enough perhaps that you could explain the twenty seven odd circuit-like nerves running throughout your body?”

Shirou froze at those words, disregarding the fact that the Ghost didn’t listen to his earlier request.

What did it say?

And now that he thought about it… 

‘As you’ve most likely noticed, your circuits are currently dormant, but it’s not like you’ll need them. Not yet anyways.’ 

‘I have a feeling you’ll be here for a long, long time.’

Again, what the hell was Zelretch planning here? If there were two things to know about the Kaleidoscope, it was that he hardly ever did anything without a good reason, even if it was for his own amusement, and that he always planned long term, as in ‘decades-to-centuries’ long term. 

He turned back to the Ghost. “How do you know about those?” The tone of his voice left no room for argument.

The Ghost seemed to shrink into its shell, a little nervous when he saw the somewhat wary and hostile expression on his face. “When I resurrected you, I detected these oddities running through your body. They almost looked like an extra set of nerves, but they were too different from what normal nerves look like, and yet didn’t seem to be transplanted into your body. There have been many cases of strange physical abnormalities in ancient medical files, but none were ever like the ones I saw in you. Initially, I wasn’t going to bring them up in our conversation, but seeing as you have your memories, I supposed that idea was rendered moot.” 

So, his magic circuits were still with him. That was reassuring. Still, there was one more question he had to ask. 

“And their current state? Are they dormant or active?” 

The Ghost looked at him oddly. “I’m assuming that you know what they are, given your question. They are currently dormant, as I wasn’t sure what to do with them, and they seemed to be running on a different power than Light, which the power I resurrected you with and the other power that you currently possess. However, I might be able to resuscitate them.” 

That was a relieving thought. 

“Do it.” 

The Ghost looked at him, seeming to scrutinize his words, looking at them from every angle. But in the end, it bobbed its body in what looked to be… reluctant acceptance. Slowly, blue tendrils of ethereal light emerged from its core, and they latched onto him spreading all over his body like a web. He could feel the latent power coming within them, like water rushing through a river. The thought of all that power in one tiny construct scared him, but he steeled himself in preparation. 

The Ghost gave him one more look, once again managing to emote something akin to concern. “Again, I can’t guarantee that the process will work, and in the worst case scenario, it may cause permanent damage to your body that I can’t fix. Are you sure about this?” 

For Shirou, there was ever only one answer. 

He had said it once, long ago, when he was still human, desperate, wanting. Now, he would say it again, as an eternal Guardian of humanity.

The block glowed with shining light. 

——————————————  
Elsewhere… 

If one were to ask Cu Chulainn how he felt being defeated, and subsequently killed, by a giant wave of darkness, they would have found his bloodthirsty spear in their heart faster than one could say, ‘Gay Bulge.’

He had his pride, dammit! That was not how he wanted to die… again.

Now, don’t get him wrong. He enjoyed his new lease on life, even if he was stuck with that annoying red archer for a decade. Not that he minded too much. He could make a decent drinking buddy, and was a true friend when one could push past his cynicism and snark. 

It was a wonderful opportunity and a second chance that he absolutely refused to let go to waste. The result? He made new friends, got to try out many new luxuries that one in his time could only ever dream of, and had an honest job that paid well, no death involved whatsoever. 

In spite of that, he never forgot who he was at his core. He was a warrior, and a damn good one at that. It helped that he had two others at his side who could fight him to a standstill. Kept his instincts sharp, and his skills sharper.

And now he was showing off that skill in front of a very confused… Ghost? Was that what it was called? Oh well… 

But still, feeling the familiar grip of Gae Bolg in his hands once more after so many years was simply too much for the former servant to resist. 

“So let me get this straight,” he said, absently-mindedly twirling his famed weapon in continuous circles around him. “We’re livin’ in this post-apocalyptic world that has gone to shit, with enemies on all sides and humanity's reduced to less than several million inhabitants, plus one last city. And you are supposed to be among the millions of offspring of that giant white ball hangin’ in the sky in Russia, each of whom are supposed to resurrect people to fight for it? Sorry to tell ya, but I don’t buy it.” 

“But it’s true!” The Ghost protested. He would’ve been surprised at the level of emotion it could emote without a face, but he’d seen stranger. “I’m sorry that we can’t show you any proof, but should your resurrection be enough to prove something.”

Cu stopped spinning his spear to hold up his hands in surrender. “Just callin’ it like I see it. Wouldn’t ya be suspicious if someone who ya just resurrected told ya that they had all their memories intact out of the blue?”

The Ghost took a moment to consider that. “Well… I suppose if you put it that way…”

He laughed and simply pat the construct on its ‘head.’ “Hey now, no hard feelings. Ya just gotta be careful with how ya say somethin’… outrageous.” His voice took on a more feral and grimmer tone, as he remembered everything that he did when he lived his life as Ireland’s Child of Light. “Even the small things like that can get ya killed.”

The Ghost wisely decided to back off from that topic. “…So, do you…” Cu put up a hand, stopping it from talking further. “Not fully.” He frowned in thought. 

“What you’re claiming still pretty far-fetched, even by my standards. And believe me, I’ve seen enough stranger things to last a lifetime. However… I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, seeing as I’m not, well, dead anymore, so I suppose that counts for something.” 

He slung his spear over his shoulders, his arms resting on its length. “So then, what’s next?” 

The Ghost bobbed up and down relieved to be talking about something else more comfortable. “Well, the next thing to do is to get you to the Last City. Although we might need to take a couple detours first.” Cu raised an eyebrow in confusion. “And why would that be a good idea?” 

“As the ancient proverb goes, ‘There is strength in numbers.’ Two other Guardians are nearby, and were resurrected around the same time as you.” The words let some hope blossom within him. 

Could it be?

“What are we waitin’ for, then? Let’s go!” Cu raced off, intent on finding whoever came into re-existence with him. 

“Hey, wait for me!” 

* * *

Arturia Pendragon had the wonderful sensation of falling off a broken and worn out chair. 

The next thing she felt was a sharp pain through her gut, a flash of a golden light coming into view, and everything went black.

* * *

"...rry! I'm so, so sorry!"

The sharp pain in her gut had toned down to a dull ache, but she still found herself struggling to get up. The ground was dusty, and pieces of rubble were scattered all over.

Grabbing onto the nearby rusted table, ' _our table'_ she realized, Arturia managed to pull herself upright and leant on the furniture to support her until she regained her bearings. This of course, failed, and she almost lost her balance as the table gave way with a loud 'crash.' So, she struggled over to the nearest wall, found a good spot to lean on, and finally took a good look at her surroundings. After several seconds though, she finally realized that despite the obvious 'changes,' this was still, for all intents and purposes, their house.

It was a wreck; windows shattered, furniture missing, door knobs and wares rusted, floorboards torn and splintered. It looked nothing like the home she had grown attached to in the last decade. And… was that sunlight? It was already a couple hours to midnight the last time she looked outside.

Apparently, a lot of time must have gone by.

More importantly, both of her friends were not with her. Cu had been out doing his own thing, bored out of his mind waiting for Shirou, and the aforementioned had been most likely driving back when her entire world went black.

Now, here she was; lost, confused, and very much concerned. She looked down at herself, and froze.

These… were not her clothes. Before, she was wearing her usual cardigan and blue skirt, plus a warm sweater because the heater had decided to commit suicide earlier that day and the night was cold. Now, she was wearing an assortment of robes that looked akin to Merlin's usual get-up without all the fancy baubles he had attached. There were some major differences with hers, of which she was immensely thankful for.

Instead of a predominantly white color scheme with blue, pink, and gold as secondaries, her new clothing was mainly tan with some grey trim. His cloak was replaced by what looked suspiciously similar to the yellow raincoat she wore on the first day of the Holy Grail War. In addition, her robes were sleeveless, revealing a skintight, but thick, flight suit made up of materials unknown to her, and her pants were more form-fitting rather than baggy. How the perverse magus even managed to move around in that, she would never know. It always looked too gaudy in her eyes.

There was also a small amount of armor which offered her some protection, the lack of it made her feel open and exposed. Her forearms were covered by vambraces made up of a single plate that went from her elbow to the base of her wrist, although her hands, while covered, had no protection on them except for metal studs on the fingers. There wasn't any pauldrons, although she was already used to that, considering her old set of armor also lacked the same things. The chestplate was, unsurprisingly, the heaviest and the most well armored, but it felt too light for her liking, and didn't cover the rest of her torso. Her legs were also well protected, made up of greaves, knee pads, and a cuisse, but again, it also felt too light for her. All in all, it was practical, tough, and sturdy. Good.

Once she was done checking out her new appearance, she made to get up… and froze. The hairs on her neck stood up, and a sense of vulnerability blanketed her. She looked up, and upon seeing nothing, down, then behind her, despite there being a wall, and finally side to… side.

A little blue thing floated next to her head, it's singular blue eye staring at her, unblinking.

She pushed off the wall, all grogginess gone, and adopted a fighting stance that Shirou had taught her. Hand-to-hand wasn't her forte and would never be. She was much better with a sword, anyways. Speaking of which…

Excalibur was nowhere to be seen. To be fair, none of the three had any of their Noble Phantasms, although Shirou technically still had his Reality Marble, but because his magic circuits had been rendered dormant, it wasn't like he could access it anyways. A feeling of sadness enveloped her heart. She missed the familiar weight of her sword, its smooth grip held firmly in her hands. She shook herself out of her melancholy. She could mourn later.

Shirou was never the best teacher to begin with, as most of his knowledge came from Rin's own experience in Bajiquan, and usually his own stance was full of intentional openings, which was to be expected considering his mindset and fighting style, but she supposed that having some knowledge was better than none at all.

"Who or what are you?" Arturia demanded, her voice calm and steady. She remembered hearing a voice earlier, but wasn't too sure of the source, much less if it was real. Guess she knew now.

Still, to drop her guard like that. She blamed Shirou for not coming home sooner to make dinner. Hunger was the enemy, after all. It would do one no good if one fought on an empty stomach

The thing shrunk back, quickly hiding behind the wall she was leaning on earlier. It peaked over the top, lone eye gazing down at her with a measure of hesitance.

"D-do you p-promise you won't h-hurt me?" It asked, its voice timid and small. It was feminine too, but she heard some traces of masculinity in the accent.

Arturia didn't relax her guard one bit, but her expression softened, if only a little. To anyone else, it would have looked like her expression had never changed; just narrowed eyes and mouth set in a thin line. "Come out where I can see you. Slowly."

She saw the thing come out of its cover, doing exactly as she told it- or perhaps her- to do, and finally got a good look at the construct's features.

The eye she saw was surrounded by a shell the color of dark blue, perhaps ultramarine, with two silver triangles capping the top and bottom of its front. A closer look revealed that the shell was segmented, the multiple protrusions from its center making one larger object. Seeing as how the pieces occasionally twisted and turned, shifting up and down as well, it was plausible that the shell was a part of the construct rather than some accessory. Despite how small the thing was, she was still wary of what it could be capable of, and with its size and seeming ability to fly, it would be a hard thing to hit already. "I will ask again; who or what are you?"

The thing momentarily shrunk back, evidently scared of her tone. Arturia loosened her expression further. "It's alright, I won't do anything as long as you answer my question."

After a few tense moments, it answered, voice still timid. "I-I'm your G-ghost. N-not in the c-conventional manner, I mean!" It hastily added when Arturia raised an eyebrow.

"Go on."

"W-we're constructs born of an alien being called the T-Traveler, made to bring back people from th-the dead in order to protect it. It's not really n-necromancy, but it involves some breaking of the l-laws of science in a w-way that I can't really explain. Sorry for being a-an inconvenience."

Already Arturia didn't like the sound of what she heard, but she still needed to hear more of the story. Perhaps some more context would put most of her wariness to rest, or at least that was the hope. Depending on what she heard next could make the situation worse, and perhaps not in her favor.

"There is more to it, is there not?" She asked. The Ghost bobbed its core up and down.

"Y-yes. You're called what's a R-Risen, which like I said, are essentially undead people. Risen can wield a fraction of th-the Traveler's Light, which grants them immortality and p-powers beyond imagining. Whatever life a Risen once had is also usually lost t-to them, because they're memories are erased to make it e-easier to adapt to the world around them."

Here, is where Arturia raised an eyebrow, and alarm bells began to ring. The other things she learned sounded obscenely outrageous, although she wasn't really one to talk herself with Avalon and all, but still. Memories erased? Impossible. She could perfectly remember Camelot, her Knights, Excalibur, the Holy Grail War, and spending the last decade of her life living here. Surely there was some mistake?

"I am unsure what you are talking about," she began, "but I do not appear to have any form of memory loss, and I can perfectly remember what I was doing the day before…" she gestured to the now-broken house around her, "all this happened. Are you sure that all Risen are amnesiacs?"

The Ghost flinched back in surprise, and momentarily lost its stutter. " _Impossible_ ," it whispered quietly, " _that's impossible!_ There haven't been any records of a Risen having any their memories intact! I mean, maybe there were some impressions or…" It frantically flew around in circles around the room, making odd whistling and chirping noises from whatever voice modulator it had, muttering 'impossible' over and over like a mantra. When it finally calmed down -which took about several minutes -the Ghost bobbed in front of her with its single eye unblinking as it stared intensely at her.

"You a-aren't joking." A statement, not a question.

“Yes." A simple fact, an undeniable truth.

A sigh. "Well, that's wonderful. H-how am I supposed to explain this to the V-Vanguard when I return?" The Ghost muttered to itself. It was barely audible, but Arturia's draconian senses managed to pick it up.

"You don't." Arturia didn't know who or what this 'Vanguard' was, but she most certainly was not going to easily submit to a new figure of authority, especially to one she had no knowledge of. But, there was also another reason…

"Wh-what? Why?"

"Why what?" Arturia asked rhetorically, "Why tell them of such an unexpected development? Because of what would happen next." She closed her eyes, thinking back to her time ruling as the Once and Future King, her successes, her failures, her downfall, everything came rushing in like a gently flowing stream. When she pulled Caliburn out of the stone, she saw the envy in many a noble's eyes. After all, how could she, someone who was not even a mere squire, and a girl at that, manage to do what so many knights and nobles had already tried and failed to do? While the situation now would be a little different, given the circumstances and variables, the expected outcome could potentially be very much the same, if not worse.

She hoped that such a time would never come to pass.

"Can you not imagine the feelings of jealousy that this would bring? The resentment that would flare up? Even if this were to provide a boon to aiding this 'Vanguard' you speak of, would the potential costs outweigh the gains?"

For a brief moment, reality flickered in her eyes, and she saw the bloody hills of Camlann once again, the blood spilled and the bodies that lay dead or dying at her feet, the result of taking up Caliburn and the right to rule Camelot. She saw Mordred, standing before her with Rhongomyniad embedded in her gut, the armor cracked and shattered as blood dripped down the shaft, making tiny 'plinks' whenever a small rivulet would fall into a growing pool of red. Her helmet was shattered, revealing dull emeralds that seemed to stare into her soul.

Overcome with emotion, Arturia blinked and the scene disappeared, bringing her back to reality, with Mordred's unmasked and face filled with hurt replaced by the Ghost, its lone eye still staring at her in confusion. She sighed, deciding that perhaps a little context was needed. Not enough to reveal her true name or her past as the King of Knights, but enough to make the construct gain light of what she was seeing from her point of view.

"Once, I was put into such a situation, where only I could do something so many others tried and failed to do. And as a result, I gained the right to lead a people who had been leaderless for years. While I gained the loyalty of many that day, I also gained the animosity of more than a few who wanted to be the next leader. They rebelled against me, and although I swiftly quelled their rebellions against me, I remember thinking that this, _this_ was not what I wanted for the future of my people, a life full of rebellious subjects. So no, I will not do anything." Arturia sighed again, her shoulders feeling much heavier now as she finished her piece.

"I… I understand…" the Ghost replied, eye looking somewhat downcast. The former King of Knights couldn't help but feel a slight pang of guilt at the sight, but she would ultimately stick by her decision. She reached out to caress the construct, bringing it close to her.

"Look, I-" Suddenly, her senses went on full alert a second time. Every little sensation seemed to magnify itself tenfold; the wind felt a little bit colder on her face, her heart beat like a drum, and the little specks of dust grew sharper in focus.

Footsteps. To a normal human, they would have been impossible to hear, but to her, the sound seemed to echo throughout the house. With how low they had been, she quickly deduced that this person either had technology that made such a feat possible, was a trained and professional assassin, or possibly both.

Quickly, but quietly, Arturia pulled the Ghost tighter to her, got up, and hid behind the wall she was resting on. She cursed. She was at a disadvantage here, no weapon, no knowledge, and little time to act.

The footsteps stopped. Whoever, or whatever, it was had stopped right at the massive hole in the dining room. She held her breath as she began to slowly move away from her hiding spot and to the front door.

However, the next sound they heard caused one's eyes to flare up in recognition and relief, and another's in shock at the sheer improbability and impossibility of the situation being spit in its face _again_.

"Oy, Seibah! You in there?"

Arturia slowly moved back and came out from behind her cover, the hope in her voice betraying the look of disbelief reflected on her face. She dared not hope. She dared not believe.

But…

"...Lancer?"

* * *

Shirou was still gasping for air, even long after the process was done. He forgot exactly how much it hurt to have your circuits reawaken after many years of disuse. Damn. He was getting softer in his old age.

He felt like he was on fire, which, considering that a lot of prana was running through his now awakened circuits, wasn’t too far off from the truth. Minus the flames, naturally. Everything ached, like he’d been burdened with the weight of the world upon his shoulders and it had just got even heavier. But he was whole again, and that was all that mattered to him. Crackles of mana flickered around his body like little tendrils of lightning, as if reaffirming that wondrous feeling.

“I told you it would cause a lot of pain!” His Ghost hovered over him in concern, constantly scanning him for any problems. “You should be grateful that there was no permanent damage to your body! Don’t ever tell me to do something like that again!” 

For reasons unfathomable to himself, Shirou laughed, long and hard. As a result, his body racked itself with pain as a byproduct of his amusement. 

“It’s not funny!” 

Shirou could only laugh harder. 

Finally, when his body calmed down, and the pain slowly began to fade away. Nevertheless, it was still a bitch to get up into a sitting position.

“Sorry, sorry.” He said, but the occasional chuckle still escaped from him. 

Once he made sure that his amusement had died down enough for him to gather his thoughts, he thanked the Ghost for accepting his request, who promptly drew its shell closer to its body in what seemed to be bashfulness.

"There's no need to thank me. You're my Guardian, after all."

Shirou finally managed to gather the strength to get up on his own two feet. "I think you still need to get me acquainted with this 'Guardian' business. I've heard you say it many times but I don't understand what you're talking about. Could you walk me through it?"

And the Ghost told him a tale, where heroes and villains walked across the face of Gaia, where the Lords of War and Lords of Iron clashed in a fight for supremacy or justice. He had to scoff at that, but otherwise let the Ghost continue.

He heard of their end, and the rise of the Last City, which, as its name implied, was the final bastion of humanity. With walls even bigger than those of Camelot, the city housed well over several million people, and at least a couple hundred thousand Guardians.

Speaking of the latter, Shirou finally did learn of the Guardians themselves, who were the successors of the Lords of Iron. While he was relieved that they weren't actually Counter Guardians -because that would mean that humanity's chances of survival had really gone to shit, not that it wasn't like that already- the bond with a Ghost still made him worry over whether there would be a price to pay or not regardless of what the Ghost told him earlier. Not that he visibly expressed this concern, of course. There were other, more worrying matters to worry about.

Resurrected from ages past by the Light of the Traveler, Guardians were custodians, researchers, scouts, and so much more. Each Guardian was chosen by a Ghost, constructs of Light who were birthed in the Traveler's dying moments, each holding a small fragment of their creator's power, hence why they could revive and resurrect their Guardian again and again.

They were separated into three separate classes: Titans, the eternal defenders of the equally stalwart Wall; Warlocks, the warrior-scholars who dabbled in harnessing the mysteries of the Light; Hunters, the self-sufficient explorers of the harsh and unforgiving wild.

Unfortunately, Ghost couldn't tell him anything beyond that, as his general knowledge was limited due to being isolated trying to find him, apparently. That was fine, though, he had most of his major fears and concerns assuaged, and whatever remained was a secondary problem at best.

In turn, the little construct wanted to know as to what exactly his magic circuits did. Shirou decided to decline, at least for now. He still didn't trust it fully, and preferred to keep it 'at optimal levels' in case things got hairy later on. He told the Ghost as such, and, while a little bit sad at the words, he understood his suspicions. There was a new world to take in.

For now, though, Shirou had some friends to find- that is, if they were around.

* * *

Cu was greatly relieved to find out that he wasn't the only one around.

Now, he wasn't really one for any close contact or anything, but he supposed that a hug every once in a while didn't hurt anybody. And given the circumstances that he and Arturia were in, the situation was more than appropriate.

Their reunion wasn't anything dramatic; no words, no tears, just pure, unadulterated relief and happiness. Their Ghosts floated nearby, awkwardly glancing at each other then back at the pair, but he could hardly care. His friend was here and that was all that mattered.

Now for that Archer, wherever he was. Ten years and a death later and he still had a hard time calling him 'Shirou.' Not that the former Servant seemed to mind too much anyways. It just felt… right.

He also had a front row seat to Arturia's comical reaction upon seeing Gae Bolg resting across his back. One thing led to another, and then her sword was unceremoniously brought into existence, falling blade-first onto the table, slicing right through the top. Unfortunately, after enduring the harsh sands of time for a couple centuries, the table was all but structurally sound.

Needless to say, Excalibur was the metaphorical 'straw that broke the camel's back' as the piece of furniture finally broke in two with a loud groan, sandwiching the blade in between. It looked like a poorly reenacted parody of the sword in the stone in his opinion. Embarrassed, she pulled it out, glaring at him all the while as if daring him to say something. For once, he agreed with that sentiment.

After that little… spectacle ended, it was onto more serious business.

"So, no sign of Archer, huh?"

"I have been in this one spot for the past- actually, I don't know how long I've been here."

"If it h-helps, y-your first resurrection was a-about twenty eight minutes and th-thirty five seconds a-ago." Cu scratched his hair at the completely unnecessary answer. "Huh, the guy shoulda been here by now. Even on foot, it doesn't take _that_ long ta get back."

"You forget, his work moves around every so often. I think he was on the other side of the city before all this happened. For all we know he could be there, and you know how long it takes to get from here to there, even if we ran. Not to mention," Arturia's tone turned slightly melancholy and her grip on Excalibur tightened, "he might not have even come back with us." Lancer grinned at that.

"Well, we might be in luck, considering we weren't the only two who were rezzed." He frowned at that last bit of slang. Guess the new age was starting to rub off on him, but he supposed that a decade of living here could do that. Arturia looked up in hope. "Truly?" The Irish hero nodded. "Yep! Tell 'er, Ghost."

After a few seconds, the construct finally replied. "I've established contact with the other Ghost in our vicinity. They're about twenty klicks from your position, due northwest… and they're in trouble. Fallen raiders." He paused, seeing blank expressions from both Cu, Arturia, and, strangely, her Ghost as well. "Uh, that is, four-armed humanoid creatures from space. Not the friendliest of species. I can explain on the way."

The two wasted no time in racing out, not even letting the poor thing finish. The Ghosts looked at each other silently for a few seconds, watching the dust cloud that formed in the two former Servants' wake fade away.

Cu's Ghost sighed. "For what it's worth, I didn't expect my Guardian to have physical capabilities beyond what normal Guardians have until he ran off the first time.

* * *

' _Damned E-rank Luck!'_ Shirou ducked as two Fallen- dregs, his Ghost called them- took a precautionary swipe at him with their knives. A second later, they became two headless corpses as he decapitated them with Kanshou and Bakuya before he dropped them, letting them dematerialize as he gracefully flipped out of the way of a series of molten projectiles. Spotting his next targets, a nameless sword came into existence in his right hand and his bow materialized in his left.

Five dregs went down before he twisted right side up, and another two lost their lives just as his feet touched the ground.

Not breaking his stride, he simultaneously Traced another three swords and shot them off in rapid succession at an oncoming captain while once again letting Kanshou and Bakuya reappear in his hands. Despite having no idea how they got their mysterious anti-monster properties, he was quite thankful that these Fallen fell under that category, as he suspected it would have been a lot harder without that edge.

The first two swords were parried by the captain, but the hilt of the third managed to knock its helmet, briefly stunning it. Taking advantage of the distraction, Shirou leapt towards the captain, attempting to land a finishing blow, but it was swiftly met with a counterattack by a vandal. Unable to get out of the way, Shirou let the brunt of the attack hit his body; it felt like a bunch of hot iron pellets. Regardless, Shirou still took the creature down, the Married Blades sinking deep into its chest.

By this time, the captain had more or less recovered, and was now charging towards him. He managed rolled out of the way of the descending blades, the discharge of energy that they held dispersing into the ground. Then, maneuvering himself in an almost inhumanly possible way, Shirou used his hand to push off from the ground and spun, blurring so fast that his swords looked like a circle of black and white. He beheaded the captain, the great head falling with a loud 'thud' as the rest of the body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Suddenly, his sixth sense flared up, and he dropped to his knees as two bolts of glowing… wire sped in his direction. They passed over him harmlessly before fading out after another two hundred feet or so. He scrambled over to the frame of a rusted car and peeked over the hood, only to duck back down as the two snipers opened fire. They were far, far enough that it would be a little tricky to get a solid shot with just a simple sword-arrow. Don't get him wrong; the shot was certainly manageable- his experience as a Counter Guardian and the Grail War proved that- but he'd prefer to not take any chances with them escaping.

And as long as they were in his sight, none would escape Scarlet Hound's bite.

His bow once again dropped into his left hand, and a twisted sword appeared in his right. He stood up again, going through the familiar motions of kyūdō as the sword itself rested upon the bow string, becoming more and more twisted the farther he pulled it back.

_Ashibumi_ , the placement of one's footing.

_Dozukuri_ , the posture of one's body.

_Yugame_ , the readying of one's bow.

_Uchiokoshi_ , the raising of one's bow.

_Hikiwake_ , drawing apart one's bow.

_Kai_ , fully drawing one's bow.

" _ **Go forth into the red plains…"**_

_Hanare_ , the releasing of the arrow.

"… _ **Hrunting!"**_

The sword took off, nothing but a thin streak of scarlet to the human eye, almost impossible to see. Within a second, the first sniper died, a choked alien cry dying in its throat as the being fell. Its partner only had time to look in shock before it too suffered the same fate. With no more enemies in sight, Hrunting faded away into blue motes of prana.

_Zanshin_ , returning to one's previous state of mind.

After a few seconds, Shirou lowered his bow, letting it dematerialize as he looked around at the scene of carnage.

Blood- alien blood- was everywhere, bodies strewn across the ground, and the ground looked even more torn up than before. ' _Just another day,'_ he thought.

"What was that?!" With a start, Shirou remembered his… companion; the Ghost was now flitting around the now silent battlefield, scanning each and every one of the Fallen that had fallen- pun not intended- to his swords.

"I told you that I knew what they were. I never expected that I would have to reveal my secret earlier than I wanted to, though." The Ghost turned to him.

"But those… swords! And… how?! That wasn't Light! What was that?!" It seemed that the little construct was at a loss for words. Shirou sighed, figuring that some sort of explanation was in order.

"... I suppose that it could be called 'magic,' but preferably, I call it 'magecraft.'" He summoned Kanshou in his left hand. "This is simply a product of what I can do." The Ghost did a couple of scans on the Traced Noble Phantasm, its disbelief growing with every passing second.

"How is this possible? The feedback I'm getting tells me that the sword has been recently made, but at the same time incredibly old. It's like a paradox is laying right before me, but I simply can't believe it…"

So distracted were the two that neither of them noticed another figure sneaking up behind them. Silently, they reversed the grip on their blades, ready to take down the unsuspecting Guardian and its accursed Ghost. ' _Soon,'_ it thought, soon, the Great Machine would be theirs again, starting by killing this abomination of a corpse!

Except…

An inhuman cry rang out, and Shirou and his Ghost turned around to see their would-be assassin look in shock at the blood-red spear that suddenly jutted out from where the alien's heart would have been. Then, it removed itself from its temporary home as a familiar shade of blue entered his vision, kicking the body away like a sack of potatoes. Despite lacking his trademarked blue jumpsuit and armor, which was replaced with vestments looking much like his own, the person before him was undoubtedly Cu Chulainn.

"Lancer…" The former Servant grinned and waved at him, his famed spear resting upon one shoulder. "There you are! We were wondering where ya had gone off to!" Shirou raised an eyebrow. "We?"

"Indeed." Saber came into view, also wearing similar attire, her sword hidden behind a familiar sheathe of wind. She smiled. "Did you really think that he was the only one who came back?"

Shirou stared at her, stunned in place, but shook his head and smiled in return. "I should have known. It's good to see you again, Saber."

"Hai. It's good to be back, Shirou."

Pleasantries aside, it was safe to say that all three Ghosts were having an aneurysm from all the abnormalities that their Guardians presented, despite their very existence, as well as that of thousands of others, being one itself. After all, who would ever have expected a child of light, a once and future king, and a janitor of humanity to join the fight? But one thing was for certain, as the three made their way to the final bastion of humanity, where their legends would undoubtedly continue to grow and make themselves known once again.

Destiny and Fate were, to put it crudely, fucked.


	4. Home?

Chapter 4: The Long Journey Ahead

* * *

Key: 

“Speech”  
‘Thoughts’  
“Arias/chants”  
“Noble Phantasm”(incantation) 

* * *

Taking cover from any other potential threats was the first priority on the list, but as they continued to converse with their Ghosts in a nearby abandoned lobby, it became more apparent that they had bigger things to worry about. 

They learned about the war between the Light and the Darkness, a war so long and so terrible that had sundered millions of worlds, leaving naught but dust in its wake. And now the Earth was next, besieged on all sides by forces that the Darkness had touched.

If what their Ghosts said were correct, then the fight against their newfound enemy was bigger than what any of them had initially believed. Therefore being marooned on Earth, much less without any way to travel efficiently, wouldn’t let them be of much help. 

So, the first thing on their new to-do list was to find something that took that problem out of the equation. To do that, they would need to head to a cosmodrome in order to find potentially salvageable space-faring craft; each major country had about one to three cosmodromes, depending on the size and population. Fortunately there was a cosmodrome nearby Berlin a couple hundred miles away, although the distance hardly meant anything to them. If they were able to find a ship there, great! If not, then they would have to keep searching. 

Of course once they did that, then it would be off to the Last City.

Lancer visibly expressed his dislike for authoritarian forces, preferring to be out in the wild looking for whatever good fight he could find without someone directing his movements. However, he reluctantly agreed with the fact that they were at a disadvantage, and having other people to work with would probably be the better option. They were Heroic Spirits, but they weren’t invincible; the most recent of events easily proved that.

Archer was… a little more accepting of the idea. Like Saber, he agreed that it was probably for the best that they kept the existence of their memories under wraps, however…   
  
“What about our Noble Phantasms?”

Lancer and Saber looked at him, confused. “S’cuse me?” the former asked. Archer sighed in annoyance. 

“Our Noble Phantasms, you idiot. Wouldn’t you think it’d be a little strange if three new ‘Guardians,’” he visibly scoffed at the word, as if repulsed by that fact that it even existed, “came from out of nowhere wielding weapons of untold power? Melee weapons, no less?” He turned to his Ghost. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you said that Guardians usually use guns, correct?” The Ghost spun its shell in agreement. 

“Yes, that is the case. There are certainly exceptions, such as the Iron Lords with their battle axes, and certain Guardians have abilities that allow them to temporarily summon a melee weapon of some kind made out of Light, but yes, most prefer to use firearms. I must say though, yours are… on a scale none of us have ever really seen before, even by Guardian standards.” 

“Well, ya can just chalk it up to us bein’ special,” Lancer grinned. Saber smacked him over the head for his cockiness. “Ow!”

“Yes… special,” Lancer’s Ghost said warily. He still hadn’t really come to terms with somehow resurrecting a supposed mythological figure from the dead. Frankly, no one could blame any of them for that; after all, why would one of Ireland’s most famous heroes be laying around dead in Germany? 

A distant roar caught their attention. It was faint, but no one could deny the malice and anger it held. All around them, they heard answering roars, some closer to their position than others. Each of the Servants tensed, ready for action. Saber’s grip on Excalibur’s handle tightened, the wind around her blade howling furiously. Gae Bolg’s length flared with a blood-red aura, while a feral grin spread across Lancer’s face. Archer showed no emotion as he summoned his bow and a nameless sword, resting the pommel of the sword on its string. Each of them, directed their weapons at a potential opening, waiting for someone, or something, to come through and attack them. When no one decided to show up after a few minutes, they relaxed, but kept their weapons out and occasionally glanced over their shoulders with wariness. 

“Maybe we should g-get going?” Saber’s Ghost asked with her usual stutter. 

“Yes, but we’ll need to properly arm them first.” Archer’s Ghost agreed. 

“Arm us? But we already have our own weapons.” Lancer argued, completely forgetting about the earlier conversation they had. Now it was Archer’s turn to smack Lancer, only this time with the flat of his blade. “Oi! What is it with you guys smackin’ me today?!” 

“Sometimes I wonder if your brain is just full of air,” Archer sighed. “He means the more conventional weapons of this age. Although, I am curious as to how you’re going to do that, seeing as we’re lacking in that department.” 

“Oh, not to worry! I’ve got them right here!”

Before any of them could ask how, the construct shot a blue beam of light towards one of the nearby work tables. A brief line of light appeared from where it landed, traveling over a small section of the table. As the line continued to move onwards, several guns of all kinds appeared in a neat and orderly fashion, ranging from small sidearms to rifles to machine guns. 

“There we are!” Archer’s Ghost spun around happily, he quickly turned back to his Guardian, only to see all three of them staring at him in shock; it took him a moment to realize why. With that realization, the construct laughed awkwardly, pieces of its shell twitching in a nervous sort of way. “Oh, right. Maybe we should have told you about that earlier?” 

Lancer was the first to break the silence, starting with an amused look towards Archer. 

“Well,” he said, putting a hand on Archer’s shoulder, “looks like you’re not the only one who can pull weapons from nowhere anymore, eh?” 

Archer glared at him. 

“Shut up, Lancer.” 

* * *

After much trial and error, each of the Servants had chosen their own weapons. Out of all of them, Archer seemed to have the least amount of trouble when it came to handling firearms, given that he was a modern Heroic Spirit compared to herself and Lancer, but Arturia liked to think that she was now more or less able to use the machine gun that she currently held in her hands. The weight was manageable but as a result it became harder to maneuver herself compared to if she was wielding Excalibur. She hoped that this hindrance wouldn’t get her killed on the battlefield.

Immortal or not, everyone dies when they are killed. 

Lancer chose to use a submachine gun and a scout rifle, liking the short-to-medium range options the two weapons provided. However, still being quite unused to modern-age weapons, he asked his Ghost to fashion a pole arm for him to use. 

...She promptly did the same, mentally berating herself for not thinking of that earlier. 

Archer had picked up a couple heavy barreled sidearms, or as their Ghosts called them, hand cannons. She watched as his eyes flashed green, no doubt using Structural Analysis, though for what, she had no idea. However, whatever information he received seemed to have garnered his approval, as he nodded in satisfaction and stowed the guns into a couple of holsters his Ghost had provided for him. While possessing no true melee weapon, several sets of knives were wrapped around his forearms and legs by bandoliers.

“Okay, that should be it,” he said to his Ghost. “You can put the rest of the guns away now, unless either of you need anything else.” 

“Nah, I’m good.” Lancer experimentally spun the new lance in his hand. It was a two-pronged spear just about his height with a tiny guard put directly under the blades. Intricate vines just like the ones on Gae Bolg ran down its length, ending in an additional blade at the base. All in all, it seemed to be fairly well made. “I have to say,” he said, turning to his own Ghost. “You did a pretty good job making this.”   
  
“It was nothing. You’re my Guardian after all, and I want nothing but the best for you.”

Arturia watched Lancer laugh, patting the Ghost on its shell like a father would do to his son. She felt a small knot form in her stomach at the action, her mind once again turning to Mordred like it did every so often back in her new life. Of all the things she regretted about her rule, not treating him right was among the top three. She looked down at the sword her own Ghost had made for use, a copy that included elements of both Excalibur and Caliburn without any of the fae markings or ornate jewels. The blade was wider than before, its base almost as long as the cross guard and longer than either of her swords had ever been. Now that she thought about it, it actually looked a little more like Clarent than either of her blades. What a twisted joke. 

Still, the past was past, and there was nothing she could do anymore. As she looked at her Ghost, silently conveying her thanks, her eyes once more glinted with the resolve of the Once and Future King. The moment she destroyed the Grail was the moment she let go of her wish. She had a new life now, and she wouldn’t let herself wallow in regret like she once did. All that was left was to move forward. 

Were it so easy…

* * *

Cu Chulainn wasn’t normally one for small talk, preferring to let his actions do the talking for him, but right now he wished that his companions would at least say something. Not a word had been spoken for the several hours they’d been traveling, and they had unfortunately, at least in his opinion, not come across any form of opposition. There was only so much one could take, and for him, he was almost at his limit.

However, he did have another companion he might be able to talk to. 

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if telepathy was possible with his Ghost like it was with his original master or that bastard of a priest, but he had to try. He reached into the depths of his mind, looking for any sign of a mental link floating around some…

There. Towards the back of his mind, he ‘saw’ a small tree sapling that seemed to glow with a warm and ethereal light. He ‘walked’ towards it, kneeling down and placing a hand on its somewhat tiny trunk. The moment his hand just brushed against the surprisingly soft bark, he saw his vision getting thrown back out into the real world. 

But something felt different. 

_‘Oi, Ghost. Can ya hear me?’_ He could feel something shift and stir in the back of his mind, as if surprised at the action, but it quickly stopped and seemed to solidify its hold after a few moments. _‘Yes, I can hear you, Guardian.’_ The Ghost’s voice sounded slightly muffled, but it grew clear with each passing second. _‘Do you need something?’_ Cu chuckled at the construct’s query. 

_‘Nah, not really. I’m just bored outta my mind and I want someone ta talk to. Saber and Archer have been pretty quiet so I figured I might as well keep the atmosphere that way. For all I know they could be talking to their own Ghosts.’_

_‘I see…’_

The following silence was infectious, but fortunately Cu decided to break before it got anymore awkward. _‘So, tell me about yourself. It musta been quite an adventure for ya to find me. What sort of places did you see?’_

And so the Ghost talked, and Cu listened. 

His eyes widened in awe as he heard about the red sands of Mars, of the former paradise it had once been and how it had turned into a barren wasteland of death. He silently laughed in glee when he heard about the giant armored space turtles known as the Cabal that established a beachhead upon its land. Big, strong, disciplined, and most of all, unwilling to give an inch, they sounded like they would make a great fight. He could respect those who gave their all in battle, even if they were on the opposing side.

He internally growled as he was told of the moon, of how lifeless and cold it was, the only heat provided by the harsh green soulfire of the Hive, sworn enemies of the Traveler and abominations of the highest order who dabbled in necromancy and something called the Sword Logic, an evil and twisted concept of survival of the fittest so old that it predated the formation of the Earth. They would have to be put down without a single ounce of remorse. 

His hackles raised when his Ghost informed him about Venus. Said to have once been an even more beautiful planet than the Earth itself and a treasure trove of knowledge where some of the greatest minds in the history of mankind were produced, it was now terraformed by the Vex, a race of cold and unfeeling machines made of hammered bronze and organic matter that predated even the Sword Logic. 

But the Fallen? Oh, how his blood boiled and sung. While he had no particular dislike of pirates, having never met one himself, added to the fact they never truly existed in his time, the Fallen was definitely a race that kicked the name up to eleven. Pillagers and murderers of the innocent and the defenseless, they were among the first to come down and attack the surviving remnants of humanity after the Collapse. That alone made him despise them all the more. While he certainly wasn’t a saint by any means, he at least had some measure of standards. The Fallen on the other hand, seemed to have none. 

Absently, he noticed Archer and Saber look at him in curiosity, though the former hid it well behind that impassive mask he called a face. However, if they had any concerns, they didn’t voice them. 

For a while, he walked on in silence, stewing over the information. 

_‘I hope I didn’t do something to make you angry at me,’_ His Ghost finally spoke after a long while. _‘You seemed pretty angry when I told you about the Fallen.’_

_‘Nah, it ain’t yer fault. It’s just that… ah, dammit! I can’t do this sentimental shit like ta others can! Look, long story short; the things they’ve in done particular have pissed me off in comparison ta ev’ryone else, although I can’t say I haven’t done some of ta same in some regard.’_

_‘Oh... I’m not sure what to think about that, but you seem like a good person at heart. That’s what I feel from you, at least. Do you think you could tell me more about yourself? Well, maybe not all the… bad stuff, but truthfully, I’ve always wanted to know how the old civilizations thrived. So much history was lost with the Collapse, and to hear it from someone who had firsthand experience with that would be eye-opening.’_

Cu weighed his decisions. On one hand, he could keep shut about the topic, but on the other, maybe it would be good to open up a bit. Not too much that he would basically be telling his life story to someone who was still a bit of a stranger, but enough. Maybe it was something influencing his decision, or maybe the years had just made him a bit softer, but he decided to give it a go.

 _‘… My homeland, Ireland, was beautiful. Green as far as ta eye could see, an’ hardly a building in sight, ‘cept for castles made of nothin’ but wood an’ stone.’_ He closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. _‘Times were simpler, ya know? Hardly any politics to deal with; jus’ kings and queens rulin’ over their lands an’ the common folk livin’ lives so dull that ta modern folk of today would like be lords an’ ladies to them given their lifestyle an’ all. As for me, I was a hero. ‘Ireland’s ‘Child of Light’ people called me, born of the sun god Lugh and a mortal mother.’_

Truly, those were happier times. The blacksmith Culann, his old friend Ferdiad, his teacher Scáthach, he missed them all dearly, though he would continue to move on without regrets. However in the case of the latter, she might still be alive in the Shadowlands if it was left unaffected by whatever killed them, but he doubted that. Still, it didn’t hurt to try, and maybe one day he would go and seek her out if he had the time, but that would have to be put off for now.

He could feel the shock emanating his Ghost. _‘You mean to tell me that gods really existed?!’_

_‘Sure did. ‘Course, I never met my father all too often, but there were others.’_ The Morrígan was one such example, but he didn’t bother to go into that. 

_‘Interesting… real gods…’_

_‘Don’t get too tied up on it. It’s a lot to take in, yeah?’_

_‘Considering I’ve had my world views shattered in the span of several hours? Yes, it is. I mean, with the Light and Darkness already being primordial forces of paracausality, there was always the chance that similar existences were out there, but still…’_

Were they really talking for that long? Time really does fly when one was occupied with other thing, he supposed. Wait… 

_‘Say, how far are we from our destination? It’s already past noon.’_

He heard some clicking and whirring, probably the Ghost making some calculations within whatever equivalent it had for a brain. 

_‘I’d say we’re about over a third of the way there, so by nightfall we should be able to make it in. This would be so much easier and faster if we had a few sparrows on hand, but I never bothered to get any.’_

_‘I’m guessin’ ya don’t mean ta bird.’_

_‘No, no, it’s a single-man transport powered by anti-gravity generators and an engine; kind of like a hover bike, but most Guardians say it’s more of a missile with handlebars. Considering the amount of crashing they do into enemies, and the ensuing explosion that follows, I’m inclined to agree.’_

_‘Ha! Now that sounds like it takes some guts to do! I like it.’_

_‘…Please don’t, Guardian. We already have enough insanity going on in this galaxy. I don’t want you to be thrown into the mix too.’_

Sadly, any fleeting hopes that the Ghost had would soon drop faster than a Warsat, but that’s a story for another time. 

* * *

If there was one word that could be used to describe the German Cosmodrome, it would be ‘titanic.’

Truly, despite the centuries of weathering and rusting, most of the entire complex was still more or less intact. The sky-high walls still held strong against blowing clouds of dust. The satellite towers, powered by near-inexhaustible supplies of energy, seemed to reach for the stars above. The remaining Exodus colony ships from the Collapse still stood on their gantries, as if waiting for some unseen hand to command it to take off into the unknown. 

It also had a remarkable, if plain, beauty to it; there were no exotic flowers or plants in nice and ornate pots, but the dandelions and poppies that sprouted up here and there showed that despite all the adversity the world faced, life would still persist, and that in of itself was beautiful.

Of course, none of the three new Guardians had the time to enjoy that. It was understandable, considering they were trying to avoid a hulking mass of death and legs called a Fallen Walker.

“Can someone remind me how we got into this mess?” Archer growled in annoyance as he peeked around the building wall he was hiding behind, only to quickly duck back down when a shot from vandal’s wire rifle missed him by a few inches. “Damn!” Rolling out of cover, he sent a barrage of arrows towards the pesky vandal effectively taking it out of the fight. Unfortunately, he was now in the the line of sight of the walker. While he managed to scramble away just in time, his cover was now effectively blown to bits by the ensuing missile cluster. 

“Well, I distinctly remember someone sayin’, ‘no Noble Phantasms?’ So ‘ere we are.” Lancer quipped back, running around in unpredictable patterns, sending out sprays of bullets from his submachine gun to keep his foes at bay while killing those who got too close for comfort with a thrust of his spear. ‘Sides, how are ya gonna explain what yer doin’? No one can shoot arrows that fast.” 

Meanwhile, Saber just sighed from behind her cover, muttering something about “boys and their stupid arguments” to her Ghost while attempting to take out the legs of the walker with her machine gun… which now had its sights on her.

The tank hunkered down, a loud blaring siren ringing throughout the cosmodrome. The cannon on top of its body turned towards her, and her cover was highlighted by a red targeting laser. 

Archer’s eyes widened. “Shit. Saber get out of there, now!”

She didn’t need to be told twice; with her agility, she managed to get out of the payload’s way in time, but the blast knocked her off her feet and sent her flying into a wall. Naturally, between the body of a servant and a wall made of stone, the wall broke first, shattering into countless fragments that flew everywhere. Unfortunately, the impact had stunned her, and she slid bonelessly to the ground. Her Ghost let out a cry of panic and attempted to fly towards her, but remembered that she was in a war zone thanks to the brief report of a wire rifle. She vanished into motes of blue light, reappearing by her Guardian’s side and began to heal her injuries. 

Their bodies, Saber later realized, despite being that of a Servant gained some of their more… human qualities, such as being unable to get up after a severe blow. Granted, such a blow should have killed a normal human, and even a Guardian, outright, but the worst she felt was her spine getting cracked and her legs broken. And now she was in that situation, at the wrong place and the wrong time. Try as she might, the most she could do was get an arm up and try to ward off any assailants, despite what little good that would do.

The spearman cursed, stowing away his gun. “Ah, damn it all ta hell! Ya know what Archer, forget what I said earlier. We’re gonna need that covering fire.” 

“Understood.” There was no smugness in his tone, no snarky retort that would no doubt piss him off, only the cold hard voice of a machine. Arrows flew, and corpses fell.

At that moment, Lancer was very glad that he had Protection from Arrows. 

Using the opening given to him, he rushed towards Saber, where several Fallen had already begun to converge on her position. Dregs, the lot of them. The lowest of the low in their hierarchy, probably trying to scavenge whatever loot they could in order to gain favor with the upper echelons. Like he’d let that happen. 

With a quick thrust of his spear he gutted the one closest to him. He spun around and bisected another at the waist as it tried to swipe at him with a knife. A third he shoulder checked before sending its head spinning into the air as it lay on the ground, stunned and unable to react. A fourth almost managed to get the jump on him, but he like the last one he sent it tumbling to the ground, meeting the same fate as his companion. He looked around at the other Fallen closing in on him, carrying all manners of weapons. Some were even carrying spears of their own. 

Seeing that, he laughed. Try as they might, there were only a handful of people that could beat him in the mastery of a pole arm, his teacher included. He could tell they were unnerved by his laughter, the smell of fear and wariness radiating off them in waves. No doubt they thought that the three were just easy pickings they could scavenge off of. Oh, how wrong they were. 

Lancer crouched down like an predator ready to pounce on his pray. “So,” he said, a feral grin spreading across his face, “any challengers?” 

* * *

If Arturia were to list the five worst days of her life, this one would, in her opinion, rank somewhere in the top fifty. 

Yeah, she’s easily had much worse. Not that it was a good thing.

She couldn’t move to cover, her legs broken from the impact with the wall, and the only form of protection she had was the gun in her hand and Lancer and Archer who was doing a pretty good job at buying her time. Thankfully, the problem would be rectified due to her Ghost’s healing abilities being on par with Avalon’s, but without the instantaneous healing factor. So until then, she was basically a glorified sitting duck. 

“I-I’m almost done!” Her Ghost stuttered. Arturia had to commend the construct for having the courage to be able to heal someone in the midst of a live-fire situation. There weren’t many who could do something like that, and those who could were either foolhardy or insane. It seemed to be neither. 

Slowly, she could feel the fragments of bone move back into their proper places, muscles and tendons reconnecting, until all that was left was a dull ache. “There! You sh-should be good, Guardian. J-just be c-careful!” 

Again, Arturia was impressed as she slowly stood up; the entire affair had taken about a minute. Granted, that span of time should have been fatal to anyone, even with her fellow Servants wreaking havoc against their current opposition. She was amazed no one had decided to set their sights on her. 

Perhaps she should set her standards lower in light of this apparent stupidity? No, no, that wouldn’t do. Negligence was the enemy after all, just like hunger. 

Instead, she joined Lancer, eschewing her machine gun in favor for getting into the melee herself. While not as quick as Lancer was, she was more than able to get around, and despite handicapping herself by not using Excalibur, she had a couple of other tricks up her sleeve. 

Needless to say, the Fallen were stunned the moment they say a flash of light race by them, completely obliterating the right legs of their walker. It struggled in vain, but try as it might, it was already a lost cause as it shut down a few moments later, occasionally sparking as someone or something tried to power it up again. Arturia looked down at her sword and cursed. While it got the job done, the blade had been shattered to the point of uselessness, just leaving behind the hilt and a couple inches of the blade. 

Apparently, she would have to find better materials for a new sword if it was to withstand a full-powered Mana Burst. 

Not wanting to leaver their Guardian defenseless, her Ghost immediately brought the machine gun back into existence, its weight already becoming a familiar presence in her arms. She pointed it at the Fallen… who were already retreating to God knows where. She sighed as she lowered it and walked over to Archer and Lancer, the two already in another heated argument about something completely pointless. She smiled; against all odds, despite paracasual entities and and alien invasions, it was still just another Tuesday in the continued lives of the three Servants.

Arturia wouldn’t have it any other way.

* * *

Finding a serviceable ship turned out to be a fairly brief affair. As it just so happened, the rest of the wall that Saber had hit earlier crumbled away towards the end of the battle, revealing to them one strung up by a couple steel cables. 

As the three Ghosts scanned away at the ship, trying to coax its systems back to life, the Servants finally had a chance to sit down and just reminisce on everything that had occurred in the last couple days. 

“So,” Lancer began, “I guess this is really a thing now. Not exactly sure if this is how I imagined spendin’ my afterlife, but I suppose it comes close.” 

“You and your battle-lust,” Archer sighed, his eyes closed as he leaned against a pillar. Naturally, Lancer took offense to that.

“Oi! s’not as if I went an’ became a ‘Janitor for ta World’ like ya did, outta all ta stupid things one could do.” 

“Ripping off bandages, are we?” Archer smiled, though he gained a noticeable tic mark as he projected Kanshou and Bakuya. “Want to see what this ‘Janitor’ can do? Maybe he can clean that mouth of yours for a start.” Fortunately, before it could escalate further, the fist of reason came crashing down on both of their heads.

“Ow!”

“Fuckin’ hell, woman!”

Lancer got another bop on the head for that.

“If you are quite done boys, we have a ship to get on.” Saber pointed to the now-humming ship, and the three Ghosts that floated awkwardly as they watched the scene unfold. Archer and Lancer looked at each other and glared, but said nothing else afterwards. 

“Eh, r-right.” Archer’s Ghost coughed nervously. “Well then, let’s get you all aboard.” 

Each of the Ghosts shot a thin beam of light at their respective Guardians, who felt something akin to a tug in their core as darkness began to creep into their vision, until it obscured everything in sight. When it cleared up, they were no longer standing in a hanger bay, but the interior of the ship itself. 

The cabin was small and not really anything special; all things considered, it was just a six-by-three meter box with seats and compact storage spaces. Still, it was able to fit the three of them comfortably without too much issues with space. There were two doors, one leading to the cockpit and the other an unloading ramp that made up a good third of the space. 

Their Ghosts appeared before them in a flash of blue motes. “We hope that didn’t feel too rough,” one of them said apologetically. “Transmats are usually uncomfortable for those who haven’t experienced them yet.” They waved them off, saying it was fine. They looked relieved, well, as relieved as constructs with only an eye for a face could get. 

The flight was much shorter than they expected; the Ghosts had taken control of the ship and had pushed its thrusters to the maximum safety threshold as to prevent them from overheating, but all in all to only took about an hour until they finally arrived. 

The Last City. 

It was large, larger than any city they had seen before. A wall surrounded its borders on one side while a mountain range embraced the other. Within the barricades, natural and manmade, rose towers upon towers, ships hovering around and weaving around them, carrying people and goods to and fro. And above it all was the Traveler, broken and inert from its last fight with the Darkness. It hung over the populace by some unseen power, as if something had forbade it from dropping on the ground. The ship slowly made its way to a lone structure upon the City walls, the Tower, as people called it. The home of the Guardians.

Humanity’s last line of defense. 

* * *

**This marks the end of the chapters already posted on FFnet. Chapter five coming this June.**


	5. First Impressions

Chapter 5: First Impressions

* * *

Key:

“Speech”

_‘Thoughts’_

_“Arias/chants”_

**“Noble Phantasm”** (incantation)

* * *

The world seemed to stand still as the Tower looked on in anticipation at the battered jump ship that slowly made its way to the pavilion entrance of the home of the Guardians. When word from the Tower’s radio control had it that not one, but three Guardians had been resurrected, that sure made for some news.

Two Hunters who had been dancing on top of the post-office, _again,_ much to the staff’s annoyance, slowly brought their shimmying to a halt as they sat down over the roof’s edge, legs dangling, idly making bets as to what classes the new Guardians, or rather Kinderguardians, would be. Granted, all started off as classless, but everyone could generally get a good feel of where one would go. Of course, there were always exceptions to the norm. 

Several Warlocks who had been in a heated discussion about something related to the Traveler and the Speaker agreed to save their discussion for a later time, faces alight with curiosity.

The Titans, mostly those of the Gatewatch Order who had been stationed as guards for any unexpected assault, gazed on behind expressionless helmets, but even they seemed to lean forward in interest as they lowered their rifles.

As for the regulars, such as the staff and visitors, they were just relieved to have more Guardians around.

By this time a large crowd had gathered in the plaza. While not a mandatory rule, it had become something akin to a tradition for everybody to come and welcome new Guardians. It didn’t matter if you were the janitor of the Tower or the Speaker himself; most everybody did it. Unless you were Osiris of course. He always claimed he had other things to do.

Therefore it was a surprise for many to see the elusive Warlock Vanguard show up, feathers and all. As usual, his helmet sat upon his head and the lower half of his face was covered by a mask, leaving only calculating and beady eyes to stare at the approaching ship while he discussed something with his Ghost, Sagira.

Beside him stood Saint-14. An Exo who had made himself famous during the Battle of the Six Fronts, he was the Titan Vanguard, and someone that everyone, Guardian and non-Guardian alike, looked up to. His own helmet nestled in his arm, everyone could see the excitement brimming beneath those glowing amethyst eyes of his as he too looked the ship of soon-to-be comrades, and the smile that threatened to break out across his face. Geppetto, his Ghost, merely sighed at seeing the look in her Guardian’s eyes, but shared the same enthusiasm regardless.

And coming up behind both was Aparajita-4. He, like his Titan counterpart, was also an Exo. A rough-and-tumble kind of guy, people could often hear him bemoaning of being stuck in the Tower and longing to be out in the wilds. It was a Hunter thing, most likely.

No Hunter wanted to be marooned in the Tower while their brethren stole the all the glory for themselves.

The ship finally came to a stop, hovering just above the ‘doormat’ as most would jokingly refer to it as. It made sense, since this _was_ where everyone transmatted themselves onto.

Three Ghosts dropped down from the ship, each bearing the standard white-and-orange color scheme of a Generalist shell; a sure sign. The plaza was bathed in blue light, blue motes wafting into the air and fading as three figures, two men and one woman if their body types and facial structures were anything to go by, stood and looked at the crowd, each of them wearing kit-bashed armor like all Guardians who first made their way to the Tower; there was no doubt made from leftover materials found nearby their once-dead corpses.

And yet, despite their ragged forms and torn clothing, everyone was taken aback by their presence almost immediately. The aura each exuded; it felt powerful and impossibly ancient. It spoke of a confidence, strength, and wisdom that no Kinderguardian, and even some veteran Guardians, should have, not yet at least.

They looked at the one on the left, one of the two men. He was the tallest of the three, if only by a small margin. Steel grey eyes paired with an indifferent expression gazed back at them coolly while the man’s white hair blew in the gentle breeze. Those who dared to try intimidate the newcomer found themselves unconsciously backing off in wariness. To them, it felt as if they were trying to go up against a wall of unyielding iron. The resident Warlocks took note of him. If he was to join their ranks, then they had almost no doubt that there was a lot they would end up learning.

To his right stood the other man. The Hunters present in the Tower took an almost immediate liking to him. He seemed to be his counterpart’s complete opposite; his blood-red eyes, as unsettling as they were, seemed to speak of carefreeness instead of wariness. An easygoing grin had the hearts of many of those of the opposite sex, and even those of the same, flutter briefly. And the hair; while there was no regulation on one’s physical appearance, no one had any doubt that Lord Saladin would throw a fit at the absurd length of the rat tail if the man ever became a Titan.

But it was the woman in the center that had the Titans standing at attention. Despite her short and diminutive stature, many of them, including Saint, felt an urge to kneel before her in reverence. Their hearts, regardless of whether they pumped blood, motor oil, or ethereal nectar, seemed to cry out in exultation upon laying eyes on her figure and were humbled when her eyes, a color of the brightest jade, swept over them. With nary a word or action, she had single-handedly garnered the respect of the City’s most stalwart defenders. There was no doubt in their minds that this, this was a true Titan.

Saint, the social butterfly he was, broke the silence first. “Guardians,” he exclaimed, walking forward and extending an arm in greeting, “welcome to the Tower of the Last City of humanity! I hope that your journey here wasn’t too rough?” The woman answered.

“It was quite alright,” she replied, extending her own arm and clasping hands with the Exo. ‘A firm grip,’ he noticed. His respect for the woman went up further, but he had yet to judge the other two. “There was a little scuffle prior, but we appreciate the concern. May I know whom I am speaking with?”

“Ah, forgive me for my manners! My name is Saint-14, and this is my Ghost, Gepetto. And you are?” 

“Saber. Just Saber.”

“An interesting name for a lady. Does it have to do with the sword you carry?” He gestured sheathed weapon on her waist. She nodded, and then he turned to her companions. “And you two: what are yours? Unless your names are similar to your partner here?” Like he did with Saber, he extended a hand in greeting. The man on the right stepped forward first. “Eh, ya almost got it. Call me Lancer.” He grinned, and jerked a thumb towards the other male in the group. “And Mr. Dark and moody over there is Archer.” Said male turned towards him, irritation visible in his features.

“Oi, I can introduce myself you know.”

“Oh I know, but you’re gonna put everyone off with the look on your face.”

As the two started arguing, Saber merely pinched the bridge of her nose. To Saint, it looked like the poor girl had to deal with this for a while. “Please ignore them,” she said, “they’ve been at this for a while.” The Exo could only nod in sympathy, having his own fair share of listening to his fellow Vanguards go at it for hours while he could only look on in uncomfortable silence. If the two were anything to go by, they would definitely be in opposing classes, and he had a bad feeling he knew where they would go. On the bright side, it seemed like he got the more responsible one of the three.

Small mercies, no?

* * *

Eventually, the occupants of the Tower, including Osiris and Aparajita, dispersed, leaving the three Servants with the Titan Vanguard as the four walked to a place called Tower North, or the right wing of the Tower. Arturia had to admit that she may have wrong about this place; it seemed nice, and the fact it seemed to be run more like a democracy despite there being someone who everyone designated as the leader of the City lessened her worries a little bit. Currently, she was listening to Saint, who was talking about the current state of affairs. Despite their constant glares(or in Lancer’s case, smirks) she knew her fellow Servants were listening in.

“Right now we are going to see the Speaker. Think of him as a… proxy leader of the Last City. Normally he would come and see new Guardians in person, but lately we have all been kept on our toes.” The Exo sighed, seeming to age a decade in the span of a second. “I will not lie to you all, this was a fairly bad time to be resurrected. Er, not that I am complaining. New Guardians are always a welcome sight here. It’s just that… our scouts are sending in reports of large groups of Fallen amassing on the horizon. You’ve seen them: four-eyed creatures with two or four arms. Very barbaric.” His eyes darkened as if remembering personal encounters with them. “I have seen their dregs eat children, sometimes alive. That is not something easily forgivable, if at all.”

Needless to say, Arturia shared the sentiment. Cannibalism was the closest thing she could associate to what Saint was describing, and the mere mention of it of it sent a shiver of disgust through her. As far as she could recall, it had never been an issue in Camelot. ‘But then,’ she thought, a wistful expression gracing her features, ‘there was many a thing I overlooked during my rule.’

Saint seemed to notice her expression, and quickly diverted the topic to something else. “What of your companions? They have been fairly silent during our first exchange in the plaza.” He gestured towards Archer. “Archer, was it? Tell me, what is your impression of the Tower?”

“…It’s too open here, and security seems fairly lax if you are expecting an invasion.” As always, the former Servant of the Bow had something negative to say. He had gotten better, but not by much.

For a moment Arturia was worried that Saint would get mad at her friend, so she was surprised when he burst out in laughter instead. “You sound just like Osiris! Always so serious and critical, that one, saying ‘I have better things to do than attend boring meetings.’ Bah!” He shook his head. “Frankly, I cannot blame him. They are boring as they are necessary, and it doesn’t help we have people pursuing their own agendas. But you needn’t worry too much; everyone in the Tower has some form of military training, and the reports on enemy movements come in every hour. I assure you, we are far from being underprepared.”

Archer didn’t look convinced, but he remained silent. Saint turned towards Lancer. “And you, my friend? What are your thoughts?”

“Eh, so long as ya got good opponents I have nothin’ much to say. However, ‘s much as I hate to agree with the bastard, I share the same sentiments.” And of course Lancer was getting stir crazy. She and Archer being there to get him off his battle-lust helped in some regard, but they could only do so much before he got bored and wanted to look for a new fight.

“Ha! I have a feeling that you would get along with Shaxx easily. Ah, he is the one in charge of the Crucible. Think of it as an arena where we pit ourselves against each other. There are plenty of strong fighters. Death is hardly a problem, so we can fight, die, and fight again.”

At that, Lancer perked up, obviously excited at the prospect. The chance at fighting your opponent without the fear of death was a truly appealing thought to him.

They finally arrived at a place that Saint called the ‘Speaker’s observatory.’ “Wait here,” he told them at the entrance, “I will go get him if he is working.”

He walked in, disappearing up a flight of stairs hidden behind the wall of the observatory, yelling, “Father! Stop working and come say hello to the new Guardians!” The three looked at each other in surprise.

Father?

Saint soon came down with a masked man dressed up in white and black, with robes akin to that of a Warlock. At first glance, he seemed diminutive despite his broad stature, lacking any form of power or strength. She could hardly sense anything coming from him, and began to have doubts as to how this man became the leader of a city and remain in power for so long if Saint’s words were anything to go by. However, seeing as he was still around, she decided to stow away her doubts, at least for now.

“I apologize for not coming to welcome you all. As I am sure you have heard from Saint, things have been… busy lately.” the man said. His voice was soft, not in a grandfatherly way, but more like someone who had seen much of what life had to offer. Kind of like a mentor, perhaps.

Arturia was immediately reminded of her foster father, Ector, and the thought sent a pang of longing through her chest. Oh, how she wished she was a child again, listening to his stories before bed. Those were better, more innocent times.

“Please, come inside.” He gestured for the three of them, and they followed.

The observatory was large and quite open; a massive machine comprised of many rings that constantly spun around a single holographic orb took up most of the space. Beyond that, hung the Traveler. Their Ghosts flashed into existence and flew around, their shells spinning as they took in the scenery. Saint stood away from them, leaning against the observatory wall.

“I am sure you all have many questions; who we are, and how things came to this point, are some of the most frequently asked by anyone new.” He turned and looked outside. “We were a great race, once. Fantasies beyond our wildest dreams turned into reality, sickness became a thing of the past, the average human lifespan tripled, all thanks to the Traveler.”

They looked to the white orb, its underbelly damaged and broken, revealing its inner workings. Arturia still remembered when it was still whole and unblemished. It once possessed an ethereal glow to it, before they died. Now, its luster was gone, whatever life it possessed stolen away by what attacked it, and killed them.

It was Archer who voiced the unspoken question the three shared. “What happened to it?”

The Speaker looked at him. “The Darkness came.” It was a simple phrase, no more than three words, but a shiver went down her spine. “Your Ghosts, the ones who revived you, are its last and greatest creations. The Traveler created them the moment it died, sending them out into the Solar System to look for those worthy of inheriting its Light. You are now their Guardians, people brought back from beyond the veil of death to become protectors, scholars, and explorers.”

“The Last City is all we have left.” Archer’s Ghost came down and spoke, Lancer’s and her own following close behind. “It was built in trying times, when things were a lot more dark than they are today. Now, we’re counting every day it stands.”

“Each day is a blessing for Guardians and non-Guardians alike,” Lancer’s added. “Much of the past may have been lost, but there’s always some hope for the future that things will take a turn for the better.

“So much d-darkness has plagued h-humanity for the past f-few centuries. N-no one wants things to go b-back to that.”

Arturia didn’t see it, but she could tell the Speaker was smiling behind that mask of his. “Your Ghosts will guide you, Guardians, as you guide them. The bond the three of you share with them is something special, and so valuable. Guard it with your life.” He looked at their fourth companion, who was currently engaged in a conversation with his own Ghost. “I wish I could say more, but I need to get back to work. Saint?” 

The Exo paused in his conversation, saying one last thing to his Ghost before it nodded and disappeared in a flash of light. “Yes, Father?”

“Take our new Guardians to get rested up. We will get them outfitted with better armor and weapons tomorrow.”

* * *

Once they were outside of the observatory Arturia looked at the Exo Titan with a dry expression. “Father? That’s what you call the Speaker?” Saint had the decency to look sheepish at her remark. Well, as much as an Exo could at least.

“He… er… adopted me, more or less. It was some time ago, back when I was still learning under him. Maybe… two decades ago?” He cocked his head to one side, as if trying to remember that particular day. “Ah, the details are a bit fuzzy.”

The quartet was walking to a nearby kiosk in the plaza. Night was falling, the sun letting out the last few rays of color before it would disappear. Several stores were beginning to close shop or had employees switching out for the day. Regardless, it was still an active hub of activity. Saint spoke with the frame manning the kiosk before it gave him three sets of codes to rooms.

“Frames will be active 24/7 if you need assistance with anything, be it requisitioning common amenities or taking bounties.” He explained, his Ghost sending the codes to the other three Ghosts. “Just, don’t try to bother them too much when they are working. The sweeper frames in particular will often chase Guardians if they kicked over a bucket or knocked down a trash can. It’s a funny sight, but only if you are not on the receiving end of their ire.”

“Personal experience?” Archer asked, obviously amused at the image of the large Titan being scared off by one of the small robots waving a broom and screaming bloody murder. Saint shivered. “I still have nightmares about the last time.”

Putting some thought to it, Arturia had to agree with her friend’s perspective. Saint seemed like the type of person who would be willing to brave even the most eldritch of horrors thrown against humanity, so the thought of an entity that significantly paled in comparison was something that would certainly be the butt of everyone’s jokes for a while.

Twenty minutes later, they found themselves in front of a door with the numbers ‘2004’ on it. “Archer, this will be your room. Saber and Lancer, you have rooms 2005 and 2006 respectively. They are a bit small, but there is enough room to for basic needs. Feel free to customize them to your liking.” He gave them one last goodbye before disappearing to wherever he was needed. 

Arturia looked at her friends. Lancer just gave a toothy grin, let his Ghost enter the code to his room, and stepped inside without a word. Archer only shrugged, but placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Maybe it won’t be that bad. The people are friendly enough and their intentions seem genuine. I think you’ll be fine.”

While the words made her feel a little bit better, it brought up a question that had been sitting in the back of her mind for a while.

“…Is this how you felt as a Counter Guardian, Archer?”

The former Servant rubbed the back of his head, in a gesture not unlike Shirou’s in the Holy Grail War. Then again, the two were technically the same person. She wondered how he and Rin were doing.

“That’s a difficult question to answer. The circumstances through which I became who I am today were very specific, and I can say with absolutely certainty that there were other Counter Guardians who had no problems with their afterlife. Besides, it’s only been a day, so getting an accurate read on this place in such a short amount of time is hard. Not impossible, mind you, but that wasn’t my primary goal when we got here. Just get some rest. We can talk about it later with Lancer in the morning if need be.”

And then Arturia was left alone in the hallway, with only her thoughts and Ghost to keep her company. She sighed, letting her Ghost unlock the door so she could take a look. _‘No time like the present.’_

Saint had been right about the place being small, but it still felt fairly roomy to her. There was a small closet built into the wall on her left that could fit several pairs of clothes, or armor if that’s what they were going to be wearing for the foreseeable future, as well as a footwear rack on the bottom. On her right was a kitchen, which quite frankly was going to prove useless if Archer decided to keep cooking for them, and knowing him, he would. She could find a use for it later.

Beyond the kitchen the room split off into three separate areas; the bathroom, a living room, and a bedroom. Of the three, the bathroom was the smallest. The living room and kitchen combined could fit six people comfortably, and the bedroom was only big enough to accommodate one person. She made a beeline for the latter, not bothering to change out of her clothes though she lacked extra sets to begin with.

Arturia laid there, staring up at the ceiling in silent contemplation. Maybe Archer was right, but she had a feeling he too would be keeping a wary eye for the first sign of deception. For now, she would take this opportunity to rest and recuperate, but there were some loose ends she needed to tie up.

The silent companion floating in her room was one of them. They were an unknown, having powers akin to a grail in some respects. At the same time they also seemed human in nature, which, while it would make interactions easier, it also meant trust would likely be vital in this. And judging by the silence permeating through the room and the nervousness coming across their newfound neural bond in waves, it was going to be a hard endeavor.

* * *

The Tower plaza was fairly quiet at night, with only a few Guardians running around the plaza besides those on watch duty. Despite the looming threat that threatened to overtake the Last City, the air was quite relaxed; civilians still went about their daily lives as if nothing was going on and Guardians came to and fro taking one bounty after another.

And yet, that didn’t stop one Shirou Emiya from looking down at everything with a frown. The question Saber posed had kept him up, and he really did have to wonder.

_‘Am I going down the same path?’_

“Can’t sleep?” Shirou turned to see his Ghost coming to rest on his shoulder.

“I suppose not,” he responded. “I mean, how could I? You die only to wake up in a dystopian future where everything’s gone to hell? How can that not keep one awake at night?”

“Well, you’re certainly taking it better than other Guardians I’ve seen before. Their reactions were a little more… extreme, at times.” The former Counter Guardian chuckled, but it was devoid of any amusement or mirth. “I assure you, I am taking it very badly at this moment. I just know how to deal with it.” He looked at his hands; they were rough and calloused, but they were clean and unblemished.

The sight sickened him.

Just because he had escaped Alaya’s contract through some very, say, ‘unconventional means’(and even then, he was still suspicious if that was truly the case), did not mean that he had escaped his fate. To him, the differences between a Guardian and a Counter Guardian felt so very small, newfound freedom be damned. In the end, he just saw a another enemy to fight, another threat that had to be taken down before it could raze humanity down to the ground. It was a only small comfort that he didn’t have to kill the ones he saved.

And what did he have anyways? Nothing but his empty hands, a Reality Marble, a new power completely beyond his understanding, and only two people he could wholeheartedly trust without reservations. Camelot may have changed him for the better, but at the end of the day, he was still the same person who foolishly cast aside a promising future in exchange for a hell that broke him down to his core. How could that and a decade of freedom turn millennia upon millennia of jaded cynicism and regrets completely on its head?

“I can feel your emotions, you know.” His Ghost spoke up quietly. “It’s like a cascading waterfall that threatens to drown me without ever letting me go. What sort of life did you live that it causes something like this?”

“One that damned me for eternity. If I’m being honest, I think you chose the wrong person to resurrect; the baggage I carry with me is only something that few can handle.”

“No, I don’t think so. Every Ghost has one Guardian that they’re destined to be with. Sometimes in our desperation, we can resurrect the wrong person and the results prove to be disastrous, but somehow,” his Ghost spun to face him, and he was almost taken aback by how confident the little construct seemed. “I know that you were the one I was destined to be with.”

“…Are you trying to propose to me?”

“Wh-what?! NO! That’s not what I meant at all! I-I mean the bonding process can be seen like that, but that doesn’t—”

“Relax, I was only joking.” And now his Ghost was full of indignation.

“Did you really have to do that?”

“I merely saw an opportunity and just couldn’t resist.”

His Ghost glared at him, the top half of his optic darkening as a way to convey how he felt about the situation, but gave up when it was obvious that the conversation was over. The two would continue to gaze down upon the millions of lives that they were entrusted to protect, one continually pondering the mystery that was his Guardian and the other questioning the events to come and his purpose in them. A comfortable silence enveloped the two, and no more words were spoken. Doubts were still held and questions were still left unanswered, but for now, this was enough.

They stayed there for the rest of the night.


End file.
